: 


THE    SHORT-STORY 


Itt 

Introduction  antr  Notes 

BY 

W.  PATTEESON   ATKINSON,  A.M. 

VICE-PRINCIPAL    OF    THE    LINCOLN    HIGH    SCHOOL 
JERSEY    CITY 


ALLYN    AND    BACON 

Boston  Wefo  gork 


COPYRIGHT,  1916, 
BY  ALLYN  AND  BACON. 


J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING 


FOREWORD 

THIS  book  is  the  result  of  actual  work  with  first  year 
High  School  pupils.  Furthermore,  the  completed  text 
has  been  tried  out  with  them.  Their  difficulties,  stand- 
ards of  reading,  and  the  average  development  of  their 
minds  and  taste  have  constantly  been  remembered. 
Whatever  teaching  quality  the  book  may  possess  is  due 
to  their  criticisms. 

Hearty  thanks  are  due  Messrs.  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons, 
Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  The  Thomas  Y.  Crowell 
Company,  and  The  Houghton  Mifflin  Company  for  gra- 
cious permission  to  use  copyrighted  material. 


35796.0 


CONTENTS 

PORTRAITS  OF  AUTHORS       ....... 

INTRODUCTION 

I.     Definition  and  Development       ..... 

II.     Forms 

III.  The  Short-story  as  Narration      .... 

IV.  Representative  Short-stories        .... 
V.     Bibliography 

WASHINGTON  IRVING:  Rip  Van  Winkle  (1820)    . 

EDG/R  ALLAN  POE:  The  Gold  Bug  (1842)         .         .        . 

The  Purloined  Letter  (1845)      . 
NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE:  Howe's  Masquerade  (1838) 

The  Birthmark  (1843) 

FRANCIS  BRET  HARTE  :  The^Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat  ^1869) 

ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON  :  The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door  (1878)     148 

Markheim  (1885)     ....     174 

RUDYARD  KIPLING:  Wee  WiliSwmkie"(  1888)  .         -        .        .     196 

NOTES  211 


LIST  OF   PORTRAITS 

WASHINGTON  IRVING Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGE 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE .         .23 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE       ........      93 

FRANCIS  BRET  HARTE        ' 134 

ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .148 

RUDYARD  KIPLING        .........     196 


vii 


INTRODUCTION 

i 

DEFINITION   AND   DEVELOPMENT 

MANKIND  has  always  loved  to  tell  stories  and  to  listen 
to  them.  The  most  primitive  and  unlettered  peoples  and 
tribes  have  always  shown  and  still  show  this  universal 
characteristic.  As  far  back  as  written  records  go/we  find 
stories ;  even  before  that  time,  they  were  handed  down 
from  remote  generations  by  oral  tradition.  The  wandering 
minstrel  followed  a  very  ancient  profession.  Before  him 
was  his  prototype  —  the  man  with  the  gift  of  telling 
stories  over  the  fire  at  night,  perhaps  at  the  mouth  of  a 
cave.  The  Greeks,  who  ever  loved  to  hear  some  new 
thing,  were  merely  typical  of  the  ready  listeners. 

In  the  course  of  time  the  story  passed  through  many 
forms  and  many  phases  —  the  myth,  e.g.  The  Labors  of 
Hercules  ;  the  legend,  e.g.  St.  George  and  the  Dragon ;  the 
fairy  tale,  e.g.  Cinderella  ;  the  fable,  e.g.  The  Fox  and  the 
Grapes;  the  allegory,  e.g.  Addison's  The  Vision  of  Mirza  ; 
the  parable,  e.g.  The  Prodigal  Son.  Sometimes  it  was 
merely  to  amuse,  sometimes  to  instruct.  With  this  process 
are  intimately  connected  famous  books,  such  as  "  The 
Gesta  Romanorum  "  (which,  by  the  way,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  Romans)  and  famous  writers  like  Boccaccio. 


x  Introduction 

Gradually  there  grew  a  body  of  rules  and  a  technique, 
and  men  began  to  write  about  the  way  stories  should  be 
composed,  as  is  seen  in  Aristotle's  statement  that  a  story 
should  have  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end.  Defini- 
tions were  made  and  the  elements  named.  In  the  full- 
ness of  time  story-telling  became  an  art. 

Similar  stories  are  to  be  found  in  many  different  litera- 
tures because  human  nature  is  fundamentally  the  same  the 
world  over;  that  is,  people  are  swayed  by  the  same  mo- 
tives, such  as  love,  hate,  fear,  and  the  like.  Another 
reason  for  this  similarity  is  the  fact  that  nations  borrowed 
stories  from  other  nations,  changing  the  names  and  cir- 
cumstances. Writers  of  power  took  old  and  crude  stories 
and  made  of  them  matchless  tales  which  endure  in  their 
new  form,  e.g.  Hawthorne's  Rappaccini's  Daughter.  Fi- 
nally the  present  day  dawned  and  with  it  what  we  call  the 
short-story. 

The  short-story —  Prof.  Brander  Matthews  has  suggested 

the  hyphen  to   differentiate    it   from  the  story   which    is 

merely  short  and  to  indicate  that  it  is  a  new  species  l  —  is 

I  a  narrative  which   is   short   and  has  unity,  compression, 

*  originality,  and  ingenuity,  each  in  a  high  degree.2     The 

*"   notion   of  shortness    as    used    in   this   definition   may  be 

inexactly  though  easily  grasped  by  considering  the  length 

of  the  average  magazine  story.     Compression  means  that 

nothing  must  be  included  that  can  be  left  out.     Clayton 

Hamilton   expresses  this   idea  by  the   convenient  phrase 

"  economy  of  means."3     By  originality  is  meant  something 

new  in  plot,  point,  outcome,  or  character.     (See  Introduc- 

1  The   Philosophy   of  the    Short-Story  in    Pen  and  Ink,   page    72. 
(Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  1888.) 
-  Ibid. 
3  Materials  of  Fiction,  page  175.     (Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.,  1912.") 


Introduction  -  xi 

•tion  III  for  a  discussion  of  these  terms.)  Ingenuity  sug- 
gests cleverness  in  handling  the  theme.  The  short-story 
also  is  impressionistic  because  it  leaves  to  the  reader  the 
reconstruction  from  hints  of  much  of  the  setting  and 
details. 

Mr.  Hamilton  has  also  constructed  another  useful  defi- 
nition.    He  says  :  "  The  aim  of  a  short-story  is  to  produce^. 
a  single    narrative  effect  with   the  greatest   economy  of  1 
means  that  is  consistent  with  the  utmost  emphasis."1          J- 

However,  years  before,  in  1842,  in  his  celebrated  review 
of  Hawthorne's  Tales'2-  Edgar  Allan   Poe  had  laid  down 
the  same  theory,  in  which  he  emphasizes  what  he  else- 
where calls,  after  Schlegel,  the, unity  or  totality4)fjuiterest,i 
i.e.  unity  of  impression,  effect,  and  economy.     Stevenson,  | 
too,  has  written  critically  of  the  short-story,  laying  stress  on 
this  essential  unity,  pointing  out  how  each  effect  leads  to 
the  next,  and  how  the  end  is  part  of  the  beginning.3 

America  may  justly  lay  claim  to.  this^new  species  of 
short  narrative.  Beginning  in  the  early  part  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  there  had  begun  to  appear  in  this  country 
stories  showing  variations  from  the  English  type  of  story 
which  "still  bore  upon  it  marks  of  its  origin  ;  it  was 
either  a  hard,  formal,  didactic  treatise,  derived  from  the 
moral  apologue  or  fable  ;  or  it  was  a  sentimental  love-tale 
derived  from  the  artificial  love-romance  that  followed  the 
romance  of  chivalry."  */  The  first  one  to  stand  out  promi- 
nently is  WasJua§toB-iadn^s  Rip  Van  Winkle,  which  was 
published  in  1820.  This  story,  while  more  leisurely  and  less 

1  Materials  of 'Fiction ,  page  173.      (Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.,  1912.) 

2  Graham1  s  Magazine,  May,  1842. 

3  Vailima  Letter  s<  I,  page  147. 

;.     IntrocUu       ••• 


xii  Introduce 

condensed  than    the   complet'       developed    form    of    the 
short-story,  had  the  important         ^ent  of  hur 
as  freshness,  grace,  and  restrar  :hing  being  said  ; 

should  not  be  said. 

The  next  writer  in  the  order  of  development  is  Edgar 
Allan  Poe,  whose  Berenice  appeared  in  1835.     With  it  the 
short-story  took  definite  form.     Poe's  contribution  is  struc- 
ture and  technique ;  that  is,  he  definitely  introduced  the 
I    characteristics  noted   in  the   definition  —  unity,  compres- 
\    sion,  originality,  and  ingenuity.    With  almost  mathematical 
precision  he  sets  out  to  obtain  an  effect.     To  quote  from 
his  before-mentioned  review  of  Hawthorne  his  own  words 
which  are  so  definite  as  almost  to  compose  a  formula  of 
his  way  of  writing  a  short-story  and  are  so  thoughtful  as  to 
be  nearly  the  summary  of  any  discussion  of  the  subject : 
/  "  A  skillful  literary  artist  has  constructed  a  tale.     If  wise, 
|   he  has  not  fashioned  his  thoughts  to  accommodate  his  inci- 
\    dents ;  but  having  conceived,  with  deliberate  care,  a  cer- 
tain unique  or  single  effect  to  be  wrought  out,  he  then 
invents  such  incidents  —  he  then  combines  such  events^— 
as  may  best  aid  him    in   establishing  this    preconceived 
;  effect.     If  his  very  initial  sentence  tend  not  to  the  out- 
bringing  of  this  effect,  then  he  has  failed  in  his  first  step. 
I  In  the  whole  composition  there  should  be  no  word  written, 
I  of  which  the  tendency,  direct  or  indirect,  is  not  to  the  one 
*  preestablished  design.      And  by  such   means,  with  such 
care  and  skill,  a  picture  is  at  length  painted  which  leaves 
in  the  mind  of  him  who  contemplates  it  with  a  kindred  art 
a  sense  of  the  fullest  satisfaction.     The  idea  of  the  tale 
has   been   presented   unblemished   because   undisturbed ; 
in  end  unattainable  by 

)used  interest  in  his  ei"i 
f  of  ,  molding  1 


Introduction  xiii 

plot,  by  putting  off  telling  what  the  reader  wants  to  know,  / 
though  he  continually  aggravates  the  desire  to  know  by 
constant  hints,  the  full  significance  of  which  is  only  real- 
ized when  the  story  is  done.  His  stories  are  of  two  main 
classes  :  what  have  been  called  stories  of  *  impressionist^ 
terror,"  that  is,  stories  of  great  fear  induced  in  a  character 
by  a  mass  of  rather  vague  and  unusual  incidents,  such  as 
The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher  (1839)  and  The  Pit  and  the 
Pendulum  (1843)  ;  and  stories  of  '(^ratiocination^'  that  is, 
of  the  ingenious  thinking  out  of  a  problem,  as  The  Mystery 
of  Marie  Roget  (1843).  In  the  latter  type  he  is  the  origi- 
nator of  the  detective  story. 

The  writings  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  exhibit  the  next 
stage  of  Development.  While  lacking  some  of  the  tech- 
nical excellence  of  Poe  by  often  not  knowing  how  to  begin 
or  how  to  end  a  story,  by  sacrificing  economy  or  compres- 
sion, yet  he  presented  something  new  in  making  a  story 
of  situation,  that  is,  by  putting  a  character  in  certain 
circumstances  and  working  out  the  results,  as  The  Birth- 
mark (1843).  ffls  stones  also  fall  into  two 

^L  lJke  Howe's  Masquerade  (1838),  and 


lizing  introspective,  or,   as  they  have  been   called, 

is,  stories  which  look  within  the 


human  mind  and  soul  and  deal  with  great  questions  of 
conduct,  such  as  The  Ambitious  Guest(i&$>j).  Hawthorne 
was  the  descendant  of  Puritans,  men  given  to  serious 
thought  and  sternly  religious.  It  is  this  strain  of  his  in- 
heritance which  is  evidenced  in  the  second  group.  In  all 
his  writing  there  is  some  outward  symbol  of  the  circum- 
stances or  the  state  of  mind.  It  is  seen,  for  example,  in 
The  Minister's  Black  ^7(1835). 

In  1868  was  published  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  by  Bret 
Harte.     In  this  story  and  those,  that  immediately  followed, 


xiv  Introduction 

the  author  advanced  the  development  of  the  short-story 
yet  another  step  by  introducing^  local  color^  Local  color 
means  the  peculiar  customs,  scenery,  or  surroundings  of 
any  kind,  which  mark  off  one  place  from  another.  In  a 
literary  sense  he  discovered  California  of  the  days  of  the 
early  rush  for  gold.  Furthermore,  he  made  the  story  more 
definite.  He  confined  it  to  one  situation  and  one  effect, 
thus  approaching  more  to  what  may  be  considered  the 
normal  form. 

With  the  form  of  the  short-story  fairly  worked  out,  the 
next  development  is  to  be  noted  in  the  tone  and  subject 
matter.  Local  color  became  particularly  evident,  humor 
became  constantly  more  prominent,  and  then  the  analysis 
of  the  working  of  the  human  mind,  psychologic  analysis, 
held  the  interest  of  some  foremost  writers.  Stones  oi 
these  various  kinds  came  to  the  front  about  the  third 
quarter  of  the  last  century.  "  Mark  Twain"  (Samue! 
Langhorne  Clemens),  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  and  Frank 
R.  Stockton  preeminently  and  admirably  present  the  humor 
so  peculiarly  an  American  trait.  Local  color  had  its  ex- 
ponents in  George  W.  Cable,  who  presented  Louisiana ; 
"  Charles  Egbert  Craddock  "  (Miss  M.  N.  Murfree),  who 
wrote  of  Tennessee ;  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  who  gave  us 
Virginia;  and  Miss  M.  E.  Wilkins  (Mrs.  Charles  M.  Free- 
man), who  wrote  of  New  England,  to  mention  only  the 
most  notable.  ^Vith  psychologic  analysis  the  name  of 
Henry  James  is  indissolubly  linked.  The  Passionate  Pil- 
grim  (1875)  may  be  taken  as  an  excellent  example  of  his 
work. 

By  this  time  the  American  short-story  had  crossed  to 
England  and  found  in  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  an  artist 
who  could  handle  it  with  consummate  skill.  He  passed 
it  on  a  more  finished  and  polished  article  than  when  he 


Introduction  xv 

received  it,  because  by  a  long  course  of  self-training  he 
had  become  a  master  in  the  use  of  words.  His  stories 
remind  one  of  Hawthorne  because  there  is  generally  in 
:hem  some  underlying  moral  question,  some  question  of 
iiiman  action,  something  concerning  right  and  wrong. 
But  they  also  have  another  characteristic  which  is  more 
obvious  to  the  ave'rage  reader  —  their  frank  romance. 
By  romanrp  fa  meant  happenings  either  out  of  theiisual 
:ourse  of  pypntsr  such  as  thfLClimax  of  Lochinvar±  _or  events 
:hat  cannot 


The  latest  stage  in  the  development  of  the  short-story  is 
hie  to  Rudyard  Kipling,  who  has  made  it  generally/more 
erse,,  has  filled  it  with  interest  in  the  highest  degree,  has 
oiind  new  local  color,  chiefly  in  India,  and  has  given  it 
drility  and  power.  His  subject  matter  is,  in  the  main, 
nteresting  to  all  kinds  of  readers.  His  stories  likewise 
ulfill  all  the  requirements  of  the  definition.  •  Being  a  living 
genius  he  is  constantly  showing  new  sides  of  his  ability, 
»is  later  stories  being  psychologic.  His  writings  fall  into 
mmerous  groups  —  soldier  tales  ;  tales  of  machinery  ;  of 
nimals  ;  of  the  supernatural  ;  of  native  Indian  life  ;  of 
istory  ;  of  adventure;  —  the  list  could  be  prolonged. 
lometimes  they  are  frankly  tracts,  sometimes  acute  analy- 
es  of  the  working  of  the  human  mind.  ^  _ 

So  in  the  course  of  a  little  less  than  a  century  there 
as  grown  to  maturity  a  new  kind  of  short  narrative 
dentified  with  American  Literature  and  the  American 
>eople,  exhibiting  the  foremost  traits  of  the  American 
haracter,  and  written  by  a  large  number  of  authors  of 
lifrerent  rank  whose  work,  of  a  surprisingly  high  average 
>f  technical  excellence,  appears  chiefly  in  the  magazines. 


xvi  Introduction 

II 

FORMS 

Though  the  short-story  has  achieved  a  normal  or  genera 
form  of  straightforward  narrative,  as  in  Kipling's  A> 
Habitation  Enforced  or  Mary  Raymond  Shipman  Andrews 
Amid,  yet  it  exhibits  many  variations  in  presentation 
Sometimes  it  is  a  series  of  letters  as  in  James'  A  Bimdi 
of  Letters ;  sometimes  a  group  of  narrative,  letters,  an< 
telegrams  as  in  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich's  Marjorie  Daw 
again,  a  letter  and  a  paragraph  as  in  Henry  Cuyler  Bun 
ner's  A  Letter  and  a  Paragraph;  or  a  gathering  of  letters 
telegrams,  newspaper  clippings,  and  advertisements  a; 
Bunner  and  Matthews'  Documents  in  the  Case. 

Again  it  may  be  told  in  the  first  person  as  in  Stevenson'; 
Pavilion  on  the  Links ;  or  in  the  third  person  as  in  Kip 
ling's  The  Bridge  Builders.  Yet  again  it  may  be  a  conun 
drum  as  Stockton's  famous  The  Lady  or  the  Tiger? 

But  besides  the  forms  due  to  the  manner  of  presentatioi 
there  are  other  forms  due  to  the  ejnphasis  placed  on  on 
of  the  three  elements  of  a  narrative  —  action,  characte 
and  setting.     Consequently  using  this  principle  of  clas 
fication  we  have  three  forms  which  may  be  exemplified 
Kipling's  William  the  Conqueror,  wherein  action  is  emph: 
sized ;    his   Tomb  of  His  Ancestors,  wherein    character 
emphasized  ;  and  his  An  Error  in  the  Fourth  Dimensio 
wherein  setting  is  emphasized. 

Using  yet  another  principle  of  classification  —  matei 
—  we  obtain:  stories  of  dramatic  interest,  that  is,  of  sob 
striking  happening  that  would  holoTrie "audience  of  a  pi 
in  a  highly  excited  state,  as  Stevenson's  Sire  de  Maletrot* 
Door  ;  of  love,  as  Bunner's  Love  in  Old  Cloathcs  ;  of  roma 


Introduction  xvii 

tic  adventure,  as  Kipling's  Man  Who  Would  Be  King ; 
of  terror,  as  Poe's  Pit  and  the  Pendulum  ;  of  the  super- 
natural, as  Crawford's  The  Upper  Berth;  of  humor,  as 
Mary  Raymond  Shipman  Andrews'  A  Good  Samaritan; 
of  animals,  as  Kipling's  ~ Rikki-tikki-tavi ;  of  psychological 
analysis,  as  James'  Madonna  of  the  Future ;  and  so  on. 

Ill 
THE  SHORT-STORY  AS   NARRATION 

All  the  previous  discussion  must  not  obscure  the  fact 
that  the  short-story  is  a  form  of  narration  and  subject  to 
all  that  pertains  thereto.  Now  what  is  narration  and  what 
does  it  imply  ? 

Narration  is  that  form  "of  discourse  which  presents  a 
series  of  events  in  the  order  of  time.     Events  or  action 
presuppose    actors,    or   characters   as  they  are   generally 
called,  and  a  place  where  the  action  may  take  place ;  like- 
wise time  and  circumstances  within  which  the  actors  act. 
These  three,   which   may  be  conveniently  spoken   of  as 
actors,  action,  and  environment,  are  three  of  the  elements 
of  narration.     But  there  is  a  fourth.     To  make  an  interest- 
ing story  there  must  be  something  for  the  chief  character, 
te<chnically"cal]ed  the  protagonist,  to  overcome,  such  as  an 
or  an  idea,  which  thing  -is  called 
nore,  there  must  be  something  in 
in  ing  which  brings  the  protagonist 
)Stacle.     Often  this  conflict,  techni- 
ought  about  by  another  character, 
happening.      Whatever   it   is,   it  is 
;•  force.       Then  again,  toward  the 
s  something  else  which  either  helps 
ome  the  obstacle,  or  the  obstacle  to 


XV111 


Introduction 


overcome  the  protagonist.      This   is  called  the  resolving 
force. 

As  these  two  forces  work  in  different  parts^pf  the  story, 
the  action  is  conveniently  divided  into  parts  to  which 
names  have  been  attached.  First  comes  the'introduction 
or  proposition^  wherein  the  time,  place,  circumstances,  and 
protagonis^are  presented  ;  then  the  entanglement,  wherein 
the  protagonist  is  brought  into  collision  with  the  obstacle 
by  the  complicating  force,  and  the  interest  begins  to 
deepen.  Next  we  have  the  climax,  in  which  the  struggle, 
and  consequently  the  interest,  are  at  their  height ;  and  this 
in  turn  is  followed  by  the  resolution,  where  the  re_splving  ~ 
force  works  and  the  knot  begins  to  be  untied.  Finally  ; 
there  is  the  denouement  or  conclusion. 

The  career  of  each  character  may  be  conveniently  spoken 
of  as  a  line  of  interest.  When  the  lines  of  interest  become 
entangled  we  have  the  plot. 

The  following  diagram  illustrates  to  the  eye  the  devel- 
opment of  a  story.  Of  course  it  must  be  distinctly  ander- 


y 


opo 


Introduction  xix 

stood  that  no  story  is  the  result  of  a  mere  substitution  in 
a  formula.  Sometimes  the  various  steps  in  the  working- 
out  of  a  story  overlap  in  such  a  manner  that  its  develop- 
ment according  to  a  prescribed  plan  is  not  apparent. 

Small  c  is  sometimes  called  the  crisis,  being  the  point  at 
which  the  action  is  most  intense  and  begins  to  turn  toward 
the  end. 


IV 
LIST   OF   REPRESENTATIVE   SHORT-STORIES 

1.  ALDRICH  :  Marjorie  Daw. 

2.  Quite  So. 

3.  ANDREWS:  Amici. 

4.  The  Glory  of  the  Commonplace. 

5.  A  Good  Samaritan. 

6.  BUNNER  :  "  As  One  Having  Authority." 

7.  Love  in  Old  Cloathes. 

8.  BUNNER  AND  MATTHEWS  :  Documents  in  the  Case. 

9.  CABLE  :  Posson  Jone. 

10.  CHILD  :  The  Man  in  the  Shadow. 

11.  CLEMENS:  Jumping  Frog. 

12.  COBB  :  To  the  Editor  of  the  Sun. 

13.  COLCORD  :  The  Game  of  Life  and  Death. 

14.  DAVIS,  R.  H. :  The  Bar  Sinister. 

15.  Gallegher. 

16.  The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn. 

17.  DOYLE:  The  Red-Headed  League. 
.    18.  A  Scandal  in  Bohemia. 

19.  The  Striped  Chest. 

20.  Through  the  Veil. 

21.  GARLAND  :  The  Return  of  a  Private. 

22.  GEROULD  :  On  the  Staircase. 

23.  HALE  :  The  Man  without  a  Country. 


xxii  Introduction 

24.  HARDY  :  The  Three  Strangers. 

25.  HARRIS  :  The  Wonderful  Tar  Baby. 

26.  HARTE  :  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp. 
K27.  Tennessee's  Partner. 

28.  HAWTHORNE  :  The  Ambitious  Guest. 

29.  Ethan  Brand. 

30.  The  Gray  Champion. 

31.  The -Great  Stone  Face. 

32.  "0.  HENRY":  Friends  in  San  Rosario. 

33.  Jimmie  Hayes  and  Muriel. 

34.  IRVING  :  The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

35.  The  Spectre  Bridegroom. 

36.  JAMES  :  A  Passionate  Pilgrim. 

37.  JANVIER  :  In  the  St.  Peter's  Set. 

38.  The  Passing  of  Thomas. 

39.  JEWETT  :  A  Native  of  Winby. 

40.  KIPLING  :  The  Brushwood  Boy. 

41.  An  Habitation  Enforced. 

42.  The  Maltese  Cat. 

43.  My  Lord  the  Elephant. 

44.  Rikki-tikki-tavi. 

45.  They. 

46.  The  Tomb  of  His  Ancestors. 

47.  Wee  Willie  Winkie. 

48.  William  the  Conqueror. 

49.  LONDON  :  The  White  Silence. 

50.  MORRIS  :  The  Trap. 

51.  MURFREE  :  The  "  Harnt  "  that  Walks  Chilhowee. 

52.  PAGE  :  Marse  Chan. 

53.  Meh  Lady. 

54.  Polly. 

55.  PARKER  :  The  Stake  and  the  Plumb  Line. 


Introduction 


xxin 


1     56. 

57. 

58. 

59. 

60. 

61. 
.  62. 

63. 
/  64. 

65. 
,66. 
,67. 

68. 

69. 

70. 

71. 

72. 


POE:  TheJialLof4h&Jiguse  of  Usher.  < 
The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue. 
The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum. 
ROBERTS  :  From  the  Teeth  of  tlfe  Tide. 
SPEARMAN  :  Jimmie  the  Wind. 
SMITH,   F.  H.:  Colonel  Carter  of  Cartersville. 
STEVENSON  :  The  Bottle  Imp. 

A  Lodging^for  the.  Night.    _ 
Dr.  Jekylfand  Mr.  Hyde. 
The  Merry  Men. 
The  Pavilion  on  the  Links. 
STOCKTON  :  The  Lady  or  the  Tiger  ?  / 
The  Transferred  Ghost. 
A  Story  of  Seven  Devils. 
VAN  DYKE  :  The  Blue  Flower. 
WILKINS  (FREEMAN)  :  A  New  England  Nun. 
The  Revolt  of  Mother. 


V 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

BALDWIN,     CHARLES     SEARS,    American    Short-stories.     Longmans, 

Green.  &  Co.,  1904. 

CANBY,  HENRY  SEIDEL,  A  Study  of  the  Short-story.     Henry  Holt  & 
.      Co.,  1913.- 
DAWSON,    W.   J.   AND   CONINGSBY,    The   Great   English   Short-story 

Writers.     Harper  and  Brothers,  1910. 
HAMILTON,  CLAYTON,  Materials  and  Methods  of  Fiction  (Chapters  X 

and  XI).     Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.,  1908. 

MATTHEWS,  BRANDER,  The  Short-story.     American  Book  Co.,  1907. 
PERRY,  BLISS,  A  Study  of  Prose  Fiction  (Chapter  XII).     Houghton 

Mifflin  Co.,  1902. 
SMITH,    C.    ALPHONSO,    The    American    Short-story.     Ginn  &   Co., 

1912. 


THE   SHORT-STORY 


[The  following  Tale  was  found  among  the  papers  of  the  late 
Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  an  old  gentleman  of  New  York,  who 
was  very  curious  in  the  Dutch  history  of  the  province,  and  the 
manners  of  the  descendants  from  its  primitive  settlers.  His  his- 
torical researches,  however,  did  not  lie  so  much  among  books  as 
among  men ;  for  the  former  are  lamentably  scanty  on  his  favorite 
topics  ;  whereas  he  found  the  old  burghers,  and  still  more  theii 
wives,  rich  in  that  legendary  lore,  so  invaluable  to  true  history, 
Whenever,  therefore,  he  happened  upon  a  genuine  Dutch  family, 
snugly  shut  up  in  its  low-roofed  farmhouse,  under  a  spreading 
sycamore,  he  looked  upon  it  as  a  little  clasped  volume  of  black- 
letter,  and  studied  it  with  the  zeal  of  a  book-worm. 

The  result  of  all  these  researches  was  a  history  of  the  province 
during  the  reign  of  the  Dutch  governors,  which  he  published  some 
years  since.  There  have  been  various  opinions  as  to  the  literary 
character  of  his  work,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  is  not  a  whit  better 
than  it  should  be.  Its  chief  merit  is  its  scrupulous  accuracy,  which 
indeed  was  a  little  questioned  on  its  first  appearance,  but  has  since 
been  completely  established  ;  and  it  is  now  admitted  into  all  riis- 
torical  collections,  as  a  book  of  unquestionable  authority. 

The  old  gentleman  died  shortly  after  the  publication  of  his  work, 
and  now  that  he  is  dead  and  gone,  it  cannot  do  much  harm  to  his 
memory  to  say  that  his  time  might  have  been  much  better  employed 
in  weightier  labors.  He,  however,  was  apt  to  ride  his  hobby  his 
own  way ;  and  though  it  did  now  and  then  kick  up  the  dust  a  little 
in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors,  and  grieve  the  spirit  of  some  friends, 
for  whom  he  felt  the  truest  deference  and  affection  ;  yet  his  errors 
and  follies  are  remembered  "  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,"  and 
it  begins  to  be  suspected,  that  he  never  intended  to  injure  or  offend. 
But  however  his  memory  may  be  appreciated  by  critics,  it  is  stilj 
held  dear  by  many  folks,  whose  good  opinion  is  well  worth  having  j 
particularly  by  certain  biscuit-bakers,  who  have  gone  so  far  as  tt 
imprint  his  likeness  on  their  new-year  cakes ;  and  have  thus  giver 
him  a  chance  for  immortality,  almost  equal  to  the  being  stampec 
on  a  Waterloo  Medal,  or  a  Queen  Anne's  Farthing.] 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE 

A  POSTHUMOUS  WRITING  OF  DIEDRICH  KNICKERBOCKER 

By  Woden,  God  of  Saxons, 

From  whence  comes  Wensday,  that  is  Wodensday, 

Truth  is  a  thing  that  ever  I  will  keep 

Unto  thylke  day  in  which  I  creep  into 

My  sepulchre  — 

CARTWRIGHT. 

Whoever  has  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson  must, 
remember  the  Kaatskill  mountains.  They  are  a  dismem- 
bered branch  of  the  great  Appalachian  family,  and  are 
seen  away  to  the  west  of  the  river,  swelling  up  to  a  noble 
height,  and  lording  it  over  the  surrounding  country. 
Every  change  of  season,  every  change  of  weather,  indeed, 
every  hour  of  the  day,  produces  some  change  in  the 
magical  hues  and  shapes  of  these  mountains,  and  they 
are  regarded  by  all  the  good  wives,  far  and  near,  as 
perfect  barometers.  When  the  weather  is  fair  and  settled, 
they  are  clothed  in  blue  and  purple,  and  print  their  bold 
outlines  on  the  clear  evening  sky ;  but,  sometimes,  when 
the  rest  of  the  landscape  is  cloudless,  they  will  gather  a 
hood  of  gray  vapors  about  their  summits,  which,  in  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  will  glow  and  light  up  like  a 
crown  of  glory. 

At  the  foot,  of  these  fairy  mountains,  the  voyager  may 
have  descried  the  light  smoke  curling  up  from  a  village 
whose  shingle-roofs  gleam  among  the  trees,  just  where 
the  blue  tints  of  the  upland  melt  away  into  the  fresh  green 
of  the  nearer  landscape.  It  is  a  little  village  of  great 


2  Washington   Irving 

antiquity,  having  been  founded  by  some  of  the  Dutch 
colonists,  in  the  early  times  of  the  province,  just  about  the 
beginning  of  the  government  of  the  good  Peter  Stuyvesant, 
(may  he  rest  in  peace ! )  and  there  were  some  of  the 
houses  of  the  original  settlers  standing  within  a  few  years, 
built  of  small  yellow  bricks  brought  from  Holland,  having 
latticed  windows  and  gable  fronts,  surmounted  with 
weather-cocks. 

In  that  same  village,  and  in  one  of  these  very  houses j 
(which,  to  tell  the  precise  truth,  was  sadly  time-worn  and 
weather-beaten),  there  lived  many  years  since,  while  the 
country  was  yet  a  province  of  Great  Britain,  a  simple 
good-natured  fellow  of  the  name  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  He 
was  a  descendant  of  the  Van  Winkles  who  figured  so  gal- 
lantly in  the  chivalrous  days  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and 
accompanied  him  to  the  siege  of  Fort  Christina.  He  in- 
herited, however,  but  little  of  the  martial  character  of  his 
ancestors.  I  have  observed  that  he  was  a  simple  good- 
natured  man ;  he  was,  moreover,  a  kind  neighbor,  and  an 
obedient  hen-pecked  husband.  Indeed,  to  the  latter  cir- 
cumstance might  be  owing  that  meekness  of  spirit  whichj 
gained  him  such  universal  popularity ;  for  those  men  are 
most  apt  to  be  obsequious  and  conciliating  abroad,  whoj 
are  under  the  discipline  of  shrews  at  home.  Their 
tempers,  doubtless,  are  rendered  pliant  and  malleable  inj 
the  fiery  furnace  of  domestic  tribulation;  and  a  curtain 
lecture  is  worth  all  the  sermons  in  the  world  for  teaching  the 
virtues  of  patience  and  long-suffering.  A  termagant  wife 
may,  therefore,  in  some  respects,  be  considered  a  tolerable 
blessing;  and  if  so,  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  thrice  blessed. 

Certain  it  is,  that  he  was  a  great  favorite  among  all  the 
good  wives  of  the  village,  who,  as  usual  with  the  amiable 
sex,  took  his  part  in  all  family  squabbles ;  and  never 


Rip  Van  Winkle  3 

failed,  whenever  they  talked  those  matters  over  in  their 
vening  gossipings,  to  lay  all  the  blame  on  Dame  Van 
Vinkle.  The  children  of  the  village,  too,  would  shout 
dth  joy  whenever  he  approached.  He  assisted  at  their 
ports,  made  their  playthings,  taught  them  to  fly  kites 
nd  shoot  marbles,  and  told  them  long  stories  of  ghosts, 
fitches,  and  Indians.  Whenever  he  went  dodging  about 
village,  he  was  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  them,  hang- 
ig  on  his  skirts,  clambering  on  his  back,  and  playing  a 
lousand  tricks  on  him  with  impunity ;  and  not  a  dog 
rould  bark  at  him  throughout  the  neighborhood. 

The  great  error  in  Rip's  composition  was  an  insuperable 
version  to  all  kinds  of  profitable  labor.  It  could  not  be 
rom  the  want  of  assiduity  or  perseverance  ;  for  he  would 
it  on  a  wet  rock,  with  a  rod  as  long  and  heavy  as  a  Tar- 
ar's  lance,  and  fish  all  day  without  a  murmur,  even 
lough  he  should  not  be  encouraged  by  a  single  nibble, 
le  would  carry  a  fowling-piece  on  his  shoulder  for  hours 
ogether,  trudging  through  \voods  and  swamps,  and  up 
ill  and  down  dale,  to  shoot  a  few  squirrels  or  wild 
igeons.  He  would  never  refuse  to  assist  a  neighbor  even 
n  the  roughest  toil,  and  was  a  foremost  man  at  all  country 
rolics  for  husking  Indian  corn,  or  building  stone-fences  ; 
women  of  the  village,  too,  used  to  employ  him  to  run 
leir  errands,  and  to  do  such  little  odd  jobs  as  their  less 
bliging  husbands  would  not  do  for  them.  In  a  word  Rip 
ras  ready  to  attend  to  anybody's  business  but  his  own  ; 
>ut  as  to  doing  family  duty,  and  keeping  his  farm  in 
fder,  he  found  it  impossible. 

In  fact,  he  declared  it  was  of  no  use  to  work  on  his 
arm  ;  it  was  the  most  pestilent  little  piece  of  ground  in 
tie  whole  country ;  everything  about  it  went  wrong,  and 
/ould  go  wrong,  in  spite  of  him.  His  fences  were  con- 


4  Washington   Irving 

tinually  falling  to  pieces ;  his  cow  would  either  go  astray 
or  get  among  the  cabbages  ;  weeds  were  sure  to  grow 
quicker  in  his  fields  than  anywhere  else  ;  the  rain  always 
made  a  point  of  setting  in  just  as  he  had  some  out-door  work 
to  do,  so  that  though  his  patrimonial  estate  had  dwindled 
away  under  his  management,  acre  by  acre,  until  there  was 
little  more  left  than  a  mere  patch  of  Indian  corn  and 
potatoes,  yet  it  was  the  worst  conditioned  farm  in  the 
neighborhood. 

His  children,  too,  were  as  ragged  and  wild  as  if  they 
belonged  to  nobody.  His  son  Rip,  an  urchin  begotten  in 
his  own  likeness,  promised  to  inherit  the  habits,  with  the 
old  clothes  of  his  father.  He  was  generally  seen  trooping 
like  a  colt  at  his  mother's  heels,  equipped  in  a  pair  of  his 
father's  cast-off  galligaskins,  which  he  had  much  ado  to 
hold  up  with  one  hand,  as  a  fine  lady  does  her  train  in  bad 
weather. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  however,  was  one  of  those  happy  mor- 
tals, of  foolish,  well-oiled  dispositions,  who  take  the  world 
easy,  .eat  white  bread  or  brown,  whichever  can  be  got  with 
least  thought  or  trouble,  and  would  rather  starve  on  a 
penny  than  work  for  a  pound.  If  left  to  himself,  he 
would  have  whistled  life  away  in  perfect  contentment ;  but 
his  wife  kept  continually  dinning  in  his  ears  about  his 
idleness,  his  carelessness,  and  the  ruin  he  was  bringing  on 
his  family.  Morning,  noon,  and  night,  her  tongue  was 
incessantly  going,  and  everything  he  said  or  did  was  sure 
to  produce  a  torrent  of  household  eloquence.  Rip  had  but 
one  way  of  replying  to  all  lectures  of  the  kind,  and  that, 
by  frequent  use,  had  grown  into  a  habit.  He  shruggedi 
his  shoulders,  shook  his  head,  cast  up  his  eyes,  but  said 
nothing.  This,  however,  always  provoked  a  fresh  volley 
from  his  wife  ;  so  that  he  was  fain  to  draw  off  his  forces, 


Rip  Van   Winkle  5 

and  take  to  the  outside  of  the  house  —  the  only  side  which, 
in  truth,  belongs  to  a  hen-pecked  husband. 

Rip's  sole  domestic  adherent  was  his  dog  Wolf,  who  was 
as  much  hen-pecked  as  his  master  ;  for  Dame  Van  Winkle 
regarded  them  as  companions  in  idleness,  and  even  looked 
upon  Wolf  with  an  evil  eye,  as  the  cause  of  his  master's 
going  so  often  astray.  True  it  is,  in  all  points  of  spirit 
refitting  an  honorable  dog,  he  was  as  courageous  an  ani- 
mal as  ever  scoured  the  woods  —  but  what  courage  can 
withstand  the  ever-during  and  all-besetting  terrors  of  a 
woman's  tongue  ?  The  moment  Wolf  entered  the  house 
lis  crest  fell,  his  tail  drooped  to  the  ground,  or  curled 
Between  his  legs,  he  sneaked  about  with  a  gallows  air, 
casting  many  a  sidelong  glance  at  Dame  Van  Winkle,  and 
at  the  least  flourish  of  a  broom-stick  or  ladle,  he  would  fly 
to  the  door  with  yelping  precipitation. 

Times  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Rip  Van  Winkle  as 
years  of  matrimony  rolled  on  ;  a  tart  temper  never  mel- 
ows  with  age,  and  a  sharp  tongue  is  the  only  edged  tool 
that  grows  keener  with  constant  use.  For  a  long  while 
used  to  console  himself,  when  driven  from  home,  by 
frequenting  a  kind  of  perpetual  club  of  the  sages,  philoso- 
phers, and  other  idle  personages  of  the  village  ;  which 
leld  its  sessions  on  a  bench  before  a  small  inn,  designated 
3y  a  rubicund  portrait  of  His  Majesty  George  the  Third. 
Here  they  used  to  sit  in  the  shade  through  a  long  lazy 
summer's  day,  talking  listlessly  over  village  gossip,  or 
telling  endless  sleepy  stories  about  nothing.  But  it  would 
have  been  worth  any  statesman's  money  to  have  heard  the 
orofound  discussions  that  sometimes  took  place,  when  by 
:hance  an  old  newspaper  fell  into  their  hands  from  some 
oassing  traveller.  How  solemnly  they  would  listen  to  the 
:ontents,  as  drawled  out  by  Derrick  Van  Bummel,  the 


6  Washington  Irving 

schoolmaster,  a  dapper  learned  little  man,  who  was  not  to 
be  daunted  by  the  most  gigantic  word  in  the  dictionary ; 
and  how  sagely  they  would  deliberate  upon  public  events 
some  months  after  they  had  taken  place. 

The  opinions  of  this  junto  were  completely  controlled 
by  Nicholas  Vedder,  a  patriarch  of  the  village,  and  land- 
lord of  the  inn,  at  the  door  of  which  he  took  his  seat  from 
morning  till  night,  just  moving  sufficiently  to  avoid  the 
sun  and  keep  in  the  shade  of  a  large  tree  ;  so  that  the 
neighbors  could  tell  the  hour  by  his  movements  as  accu- .' 
rately  as  by  a  sun-dial.  It  is  true  he  was  rarely  heard  to 
speak,  but  smoked  his  pipe  incessantly.  His  adherents, 
however  (for  every  great  man  has  his  adherents),  perfectly 
understood  him,  and  knew  how  to  gather  his  opinions. 
When  anything  that  was  read  or  related  displeased  him, 
he  was  observed  to  smoke  his  pipe  vehemently,  and  to  send 
forth  short,  frequent  and  angry  puffs;  but  when  pleased,^ 
he  would  inhale  the  smoke  slowly  and  tranquilly,  and  emit 
it  in  light  and  placid  clouds  ;  and  sometimes,  taking  the 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  letting  the  fragrant  vapor  curl 
about  his  nose,  would  gravely  nod  his  head  in  token  of 
perfect  approbation. 

From    even   this   stronghold   the   unlucky   Rip  wras   at 
length  routed  by  his  termagant  wife,  who  would  suddenly] 
break  in  upon  the  tranquillity  of  the  assemblage  and  call  I 
the  members  all  to  naught ;  nor  was  that  august  person- 
age,   Nicholas   Vedder   himself,  sacred  from   the  daring  I 
tongue  of  this  terrible  virago,  who  charged  him  outright  j 
with  encouraging  her  husband  in  habits  of  idleness. 

Poor  Rip  was  at  last  reduced  almost  to  despair  ;  and  his  I 
only  alternative,  to  escape  from  the  labor  of  the  farm  and 
clamor  of   his  wife,  was  to  take  gun  in  hand  and  stroll 
away  into  the  woods.     Here  he  would  sometimes  seat  him- 


Rip  Van  Winkle  7 

self  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  share  the  contents  of  his 
wallet  with  Wolf,  with  whom  he  sympathized  as  a  fellow- 
sufferer  in  persecution.  "  Poor  Wolf,"  he  would  say,  "  thy 
mistress  leads  thee  a  dog's  life  of  it ;  but  never  mind,  my 
lad,  whilst  I  live  thou  shalt  never  want  a  friend  to  stand 
by  thee  !  "  Wolf  would  wag  his  tail,  look  wistfully  in  his 
master's  face,  and  if  dogs  can  feel  pity  I  verily  believe  he 
reciprocated  the  sentiment  with  all  his  heart. 

In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind  on  a  fine  autumnal  day, 
Rip  had  unconsciously  scrambled  to  one  of  the  highest 
parts  of  the  Kaatskill  mountains.  He  was  after  his  favor- 
ite sport  of  squirrel  shooting,  and  the  still  solitudes  had 
echoed  and  re-echoed  with  the  reports  of  his  gun.  Pant- 
ing and  fatigued,  he  threw  himself,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
on  a  green  knoll,  covered  with  mountain  herbage,  that 
crowned  the  brow  of  a  precipice.  From  an  opening 
between  the  trees  he  could  overlook  all  the  lower  country 
for  many  a  mile  of  rich  woodland.  He  saw  at  a  distance 
the  lordly  Hudson,  far,  far  below  him,  moving  on  its 
silent  but  majestic  course,  with  the  reflection  of  a  purple 
cloud,  or  the  sail  of  a  lagging  bark,  here  and  there  sleep- 
ing on  its  glassy  bosom,  and  at  last  losing  itself  in  the 
blue  highlands. 

On  the  other  side  he  looked  down  into  a  deep  mountain 
glen,  wild,  lonely,  and  shagged,  the  bottom  filled  with 
fragments  from  the  impending  cliffs,  and  scarcely  lighted 
by  the  reflected  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  For  some  time 
Rip  lay  musing  on  this  scene ;  evening  was  gradually 
advancing ;  the  mountains  began  to  throw  their  long  blue 
shadows  over  the  valleys ;  he  saw  that  it  would  be  dark 
long  before  he  could  reach  the  village,  and  he  heaved  a 
heavy  sigh  when  he  thought  of  encountering  the  terrors 
of  Dame  Van  Winkle. 


8  Washington   Irving 

As  he  was  about  to  descend,  he  heard  a  voice  from  a 
distance,  hallooing,  "  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  Rip  Van  Win- 
kle !  "  He  looked  round,  but  could  see  nothing  but  a 
crow  winging  its  solitary  flight  across  the  mountain.  He 
thought  his  fancy  must  have  deceived  him,  and  turned 
again  to  descend,  when  he  heard  the  same  cry  ring  through 
the  still  evening  air :  "  Rip  Van  Winkle !  Rip  Van  Win- 
kle!" —  at  the  same  time  Wolf  bristled  up  his  back,  and 
giving  a  low  growl,  skulked  to  his  master's  side,  looking 
fearfully  down  into  the  glen.  Rip  now  felt  a  vague  appre- 
hension stealing  over  him  ;  he  looked  anxiously  in  the 
same  direction,  and  perceived  a  strange  figure  slowly  toil- 
ing up  the  rocks,  and  bending  under  the  weight  of  some- 
thing he  carried  on  his  back.  He  was  surprised  to  see 
any  human  being  in  this  lonely  and  unfrequented  place, 
but  supposing  it  to  be  some  one  of  the  neighborhood  in 
need  of  his  assistance,  he  hastened  down  to  yield  it. 

On  nearer  approach  he  was  still  more  surprised  at  the 
singularity  of  the  stranger's  appearance.  He  was  a  short 
square-built  old  fellow,  with  thick  bushy  hair,  and  a  griz- 
zled beard.  His  dress  w7as  of  the  antique  Dutch  fashion 
—  a  cloth  jerkin  strapped  round  the  waist  —  several  pair  of 
breeches,  the  outer  one  of  ample  volume,  decorated  with 
rows  of  buttons  down  the  sides,  and  bunches  at  the  knees. 
He  bore  on  his  shoulder  a  stout  keg,  that  seemed  full  of 
liquor,  and  made  signs  for  Rip  to  approach  and  assist  him 
with  the  load.  Though  rather  shy  and  distrustful  of  this 
new  acquaintance,  Rip  complied  with  his  usual  alacrity ; 
and  mutually  relieving  one  another,  they  clambered  up  a  j 
narrow  gully,  apparently  the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain  tor-  ,' 
rent.  As  they  ascended,  Rip  every  now  and  then  heard 
long  rolling  peals,  like  distant  thunder,  that  seemed  to 
issue  out  of  a  deep  ravine,  or  rather  cleft,  between  lofty 


Rip  Van   Winkle  9 

rocks,  toward  which  their  rugged  path  conducted.  He 
paused  for  an  instant,  but  supposing  it  to  be  the  mutter- 
ing of  one  of  those  transient  thunder-showers  which  often 
take  place  in  mountain  heights,  he  proceeded.  Passing 
through  the  ravine,  they  came  to  a  hollow,  like  a  small 
amphitheatre,  surrounded  by  perpendicular  precipices, 
over  the  brinks  of  which  impending  trees  shot  their 
branches,  so  that  you  only  caught  glimpses  of  the  azure 
sky  and  the  bright  evening  cloud.  During  the  whole  time 
Rip  and  his  companion  had  labored  on  in  silence  ;  for 
though  the  former  marvelled  greatly  what  could  be  the 
object  of  carrying  a  keg  of  liquor  up  this  wild  mountain, 
yet  there  was  something  strange  and  incomprehensible 
about  the  unknown,  that  inspired  awe  and  checked 
familiarity. 

On  entering  the  amphitheatre,  new  objects  of  wonder 
presented  themselves.  On  a  level  spot  in  the  centre  was 
a  company  of  odd-looking  personages  playing  at  nine-pins. 
They  were  dressed  in  a  quaint  outlandish  fashion ;  some 
wore  short  doublets,  others  jerkins,  with  long  knives  in 
their  belts,  and  most  of  them  had  enormous  breeches,  of 
similar  style  with  that  of  the  guide's.  Their  visages,  too, 
were  peculiar :  one  had  a  large  beard,  broad  face,  and 
small  piggish  eyes  :  the  face  of  another  seemed  to  consist 
entirely  of  nose,  and  was  surmounted  by  a  white  sugar-loaf 
hat  set  off  with  a  little  red  cock's  tail.  They  all  had 
beards,  of  various  shapes  and  colors.  There  was  one  who 
seemed  to  be  the  commander.  He  was  a  stout  old  gentle- 
man, with  a  weather-beaten  countenance  ;  he  wore  a  laced 
doublet,  broad  belt  and  hanger,  high-crowned  hat  and 
feather,  red  stockings,  and  high-heeled  shoes,  with  roses 
in  them.  The  whole  group  reminded  Rip  of  the  figures  in 
an  old  Flemish  painting,  in  the  parlor  of  Dominie  Van 


io  Washington   Irving 

Shaick,  the  village  parson,  and  which  had  been  brought 
over  from  Holland  at  the  time  of  the  settlement. 

What  seemed  particularly  odd  to  Rip  was,  that  though 
these  folks  were  evidently  amusing  themselves,  yet  they 
maintained  the  gravest  faces,  the  most  mysterious  silence, 
and  were,  withal,  the  most  melancholy  party  of  pleasure 
he  had  ever  witnessed.  Nothing  interrupted  the  stillness 
of  the  scene  but  the  noise  of  the  balls,  which,  whenever 
they  were  rolled,  echoed  along  the  mountains  like  rumbling 
peals  of  thunder. 

As  Rip  and  his  companion  approached  them,  they  sud- 
denly desisted  from  their  play,  and  stared  at  him  with 
such  fixed  statue-like  gaze,  and  such  strange,  uncouth,  lack- 
lustre countenances,  that  his  heart  turned  within  him,  and 
his  knees  smote  together.  His  companion  now  emptied 
the  contents  of  the  keg  into  large  flagons,  and  made  signs 
to  him  to  wait  upon  the  company.  He  obeyed  with  fear 
and  trembling  ;  they  quaffed  the  liquor  in  profound  silence, 
and  then  returned  to  their  game. 

By  degrees  Rip's  awe  and  apprehension  subsided.  He 
even  ventured,  when  no  eye  was  fixed  upon  him,  to  taste 
the  beverage,  which  he  found  had  much  of  the  flavor  of 
excellent  Hollands.  He  was  naturally  a  thirsty  soul,  and 
was  soon  tempted  to  repeat  the  draught.  One  taste  pro- 
voked another ;  and  he  reiterated  his  visits  to  the  flagon 
so  often  that  at  length  his  senses  were  overpowered,  his 
eyes  swam  in  his  head,  his  head  gradually  declined,  and 
he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

On    waking,    he    found    himself    on    the    green    knoll 
whence  he  had  first  seen  the  old  man  of  the  glen.     He  i 
rubbed  his  eyes  —  it  was  a  bright  sunny  morning.     The  r 
birds  were  hopping  and  twittering  among  the  bushes,  and  I 
the    eagle  was    wheeling   aloft,    and    breasting   the    pure  j 


Rip  Van  Winkle  u 

mountain  breeze.  "Surely,"  thought  Rip,  "I  have  not 
slept  here  all  night"  He  recalled  the  occurrences  before 
he  fell  asleep.  The  strange  man  with  a  keg  of  liquor  — 
the  mountain  ravine  —  the  wild  retreat  among  the  rocks  — 
the  woe-begone  party  at  nine-pins  —  the  flagon  —  "  Oh  ! 
that  flagon!  that  wicked  flagon  1  "  thought  Rip  —  "  what 
excuse  shall  I  make  to  Dame  Van  Winkle  !  " 

He  looked  round  for  his  gun,  but  in  place  of  the  clean 
well-oiled  fowling-piece,  he  found  an  old  firelock  lying  by 
him,  the  barrel  incrusted  with  rust,  the  lock  falling  off, 
and  the  stock  worm-eaten.  He  now  suspected  that  the 
grave  roysters  of  the  mountain  had  put  a  trick  upon  him, 
and,  having  dosed  him  with  liquor,  had  robbed  him  of  his 
gun.  Wolf,  too,  had  disappeared,  but  he  might  have 
strayed  away  after  a  squirrel  or  partridge.  He  whistled 
after  him  and  shouted  his  name,  but  all  in  vain  ;  the 
echoes  repeated  his  whistle  and  shout,  but  no  dog  was  to 
be  seen. 

He  determined  to  revisit  the  scene  of  the  last  evening's 
gambol,  and  if  he  met  with  any  of  the  party,  to  demand 
his  dog  and  gun.  As  he  rose  to  walk,  he  found  himself 
stiff  in  the  joints,  and  wanting  in  his  usual  activity. 
"  These  mountain  beds  do  not  agree  with  me,"  thought 
Rip,  "  and  if  this  frolic  should  lay  me  up  with  a  fit  of 
rheumatism,  I  shall  have  a  blessed  time  with  Dame  Van 
Winkle."  With  some  difficulty  he  got  down  into  the  glen  : 
he  found  the  gully  up  which  he  and  his  companion  had 
ascended  the  preceding  evening ;  but  to  his  astonishment 
a  mountain  stream  was  now  foaming  down  it,  leaping  from 
rock  to  rock,  and  filling  the  glen  with  babbling  murmurs. 
He,  however,  made  shift  to  scramble  up  its  sides,  working 
his  toilsome  way  through  thickets  of  birch,  sassafras,  and 
witch-hazel,  and  sometimes  tripped  up  or  entangled  by  the 


12  Washington   Irving 

wild  grapevines  that  twisted  their  coils  or  tendrils  from 
tree  to  tree,  and  spread  a  kind  of  network  in  his  path. 

At  length  he  reached  to  where  the  ravine  had  opened 
through  the  cliffs  to  the  amphitheatre ;  but  no  traces  of 
such  opening  remained.  The  rocks  presented  a  high  im- 
penetrable wall  over  which  the  torrent  came  tumbling  in  a 
sheet  of  feathery  foam,  and  fell  into  a  broad  deep  basin, 
black  from  the  shadows  of  the  surrounding  forest.  Here, 
then,  poor  Rip  was  brought  to  a  stand.  He  again  called 
and  whistled  after  his  dog ;  he  was  only  answered  by  the 
cawing  of  a  flock  of  idle  crows,  sporting  high  in  air  about 
a  dry  tree  that  overhung  a  sunny  precipice  ;  and  who, 
secure  in  their  elevation,  seemed  to  look  down  and  scoff 
at  the  poor  man's  perplexities.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
the  morning  was  passing  away,  and  Rip  felt  famished  for 
want  of  his  breakfast.  He  grieved  to  give  up  his  dog  and 
gun ;  he  dreaded  to  meet  his  wife ;  but  it  would  not  do 
to  starve  among  the  mountains.  He  shook  his  head, 
shouldered  the  rusty  firelock,  and,  with  a  heart  full  of 
trouble  and  anxiety,  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

As  he  approached  the  village  he  met  a  number  of  peo- 
ple, but  none  whom  he  knew,  which  somewhat  surprised 
him,  for  he  had  thought  himself  acquainted  with  every  one 
in  the  country  round.  Their  dress,  too,  was  of  a  different 
fashion  from  that  to  which  he  was  accustomed.  They  all 
stared  at  him  with  equal  marks  of  surprise,  and  whenever 
they  cast  their  eyes  upon  him,  invariably  stroked  their 
chins.  The  constant  recurrence  of  this  gesture  induced 
Rip,  involuntarily,  to  do  the  same,  when,  to  his  astonish- 
ment, he  found  his  beard  had  grown  a  foot  long  1 

He  had  now  entered  the  skirts  of  the  village.  A  troop 
of  strange  children  ran  at  his  heels,  hooting  after  him,  and 
pointing  at  his  gray  beard.  The  dogs,  too,  not  one  of 


Rip  Van  Winkle  13 

which  he  recognized  for  an  old  acquaintance,  barked  at 
him  as  he  passed.  The  very  village  was  altered  ;  it  was 
larger  and  more  populous.  There  were  rows  of  houses 
which  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  those  which  had  been 
his  familiar  haunts  had  disappeared.  Strange  names  were 
over  the  doors — strange  faces  at  the  windows  —  every 
thing  was  strange.  His  mind  now  misgave  him  ;  he  began 
to  doubt  whether  both  he  and  the  world  around  him  were 
not  bewitched.  Surely  this  was  his  native  village,  which 
he  had  left  but  the  day  before.  There  stood  the  Kaats- 
kill  mountains  —  there  ran  the  silver  Hudson  at  a  distance 
—  there  was  every  hill  and  dale  precisely  as  it  had  always 
been  —  Rip  was  sorely  perplexed  —  "  That  flagon  last 
night,"  thought  he,  "  has  addled  my  poor  head  sadly  1  " 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  found  the  way  to  his 
own  house,  which  he  approached  with  silent  awe,  expect- 
ing every  moment  to  hear  the  shrill  voice  of  Dame  Van 
Winkle.  He  found  the  house  gone  to  decay  —  the  roof 
fallen  in,  the  windows  shattered,  and  the  doors  off  the 
hinges.  A  half-starved  dog  that  looked  like  Wolf  was 
skulking  about  it.  Rip  called  him  by  name,  but  the  cur 
snarled,  showed  his  teeth,  and  passed  on.  This  was  an 
unkind  cut  indeed  —  "My  very  dog,"  sighed  poor  Rip, 
"  has  forgotten  me  !  " 

He  entered  the  house,  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  Dame 
Van  Winkle  had  always  kept  in  neat  order.  It  was  empty, 
forlorn,  and  apparently  abandoned.  This  desolateness 
overcame  all  his  connubial  fears  —  he  called  loudly  for 
his  wife  and  children — the  lonely  chambers  rang  for  a 
moment  with  his  voice,  and  then  all  again  was  silence. 

He  now  hurried  forth,  and  hastened  to  his  old  resort, 
the  village  inn  —  but  it  too  was  gone.  A  large  rickety 
wooden  building  stood  in  its  place,  with  great  gaping  win- 


14  Washington   Irving 

dows,  some  of  them  broken  and  mended  with  old  hats  and 
petticoats,  and  over  the  door  was  painted,  "  the  Union 
Hotel,  by  Jonathan  Doolittle."  Instead  of  the  great  tree 
that  used  to  shelter  the  quiet  little  Dutch  inn  of  yore,  there 
now  was  reared  a  tall  naked  pole,  with  something  on  the 
top  that  looked  like  a  red  night-cap,  and  from  it  was  flut- 
tering a  flag,  on  which  was  a  singular  assemblage  of  stars 
and  stripes  —  all  this  was  strange  and  incomprehensible. 
He  recognized  on  the  sign,  however,  the  ruby  face  of 
King  George,  under  which  he  had  smoked  so  many  a 
peaceful  pipe ;  but  even  this  was  singularly  metamor- 
phosed. The  red  coat  was  changed  for  one  of  blue  and 
buff,  a  sword  was  held  in  the  hand  instead  of  a  sceptre, 
the  head  was  decorated  with  a  cocked  hat,  and  underneath 
was  painted  in  large  characters,  GENERAL  WASHINGTON. 

There  was,  as  usual,  a  crowd  of  folk  about  the  door,  but 
none  that  Rip  recollected.  The  very  character  of  the 
people  seemed  changed.  There  was  a  busy,  bustling,  dis- 
putatious tone  about  it,  instead  of  the  accustomed  phlegm 
and  drowsy  tranquillity.  He  looked  in  vain  for  the  sage 
Nicholas  Vedder,  with  his  broad  face,  double  chin,  and 
fair  long  pipe,  uttering  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke  instead  of 
idle  speeches  ;  or  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  doling 
forth  the  contents  of  an  ancient  newspaper.  In  place  of 
these,  a  lean,  bilious-looking  fellow,  with  his  pockets  full 
of  handbills,  was  haranguing  vehemently  about  rights  of 
citizens  —  elections  —  members  of  congress  —  liberty  — 
Bunker's  Hill  —  heroes  of  seventy-six  —  and  other  words, 
which  were  a  perfect  Babylonish  jargon  to  the  bewildered 
Van  Winkle. 

The  appearance  of  Rip,  with  his  long  grizzled  beard, 
his  rusty  fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress,  and  an  army  of 
women  and  children  at  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the  atten- 


Rip  Van   Winkle  15 

tion  of  the  tavern  politicians.  They  crowded  round  him, 
eying  him  from  head  to  foot  with  great  curiosity.  The 
orator  bustled  up  to  him,  and,  drawing  him  partly  aside, 
inquired  "  on  which  side  he  voted  ?  "  Rip  stared  in  vacant 
stupidity.  Another  short  but  busy  little  fellow  pulled 
him  by  the  arm,  and,  rising  on  tiptoe,  inquired  in  his  ear, 
"  Whether  he  was  Federal  or  Democrat  ?  "  Rip  was  equally 
at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the  question ;  when  a  knowing, 
self-important  old  gentleman,  in  a  sharp  cocked  hat,  made 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  putting  them  to  the  right  and  - 
left  with  his  elbows  as  he  passed,  and  planting  himself 
before  Van  Winkle,  with  one  arm  akimbo,  the  other  rest- 
ing on  his  cane,  his  keen  eyes  and  sharp  hat  penetrating, 
as  it  were,  into  his  very  soul,  demanded  in  an  austere  tone, 
"  what  brought  him  to  the  election  with  a  gun  on  his 
shoulder,  and  a  mob  at  his  heels,  and  whether  he  meant 
to  breed  a  riot  in  the  village?" — "Alas!  gentlemen," 
cried  Rip,  somewhat  dismayed,  "  I  am  a  poor  quiet  man, 
a  native  of  the  place,  and  a  loyal  subject  of  the  king,  God 
bless  him  !  " 

Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  by-standers  —  "  A 
tory !  a  tory  1  a  spy !  a  refugee !  hustle  him !  away  with 
him  !  "  It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  self-important 
man  in  the  cocked  hat  restored  order ;  and,  having  as- 
sumed a  tenfold  austerity  of  brow,  demanded  again  of  the 
unknown  culprit,  what  he  came  there  for,  and  whom  he 
was  seeking  ?  The  poor  man  humbly  assured  him  that  he 
meant  no  harm,  but  merely  came  there  in  search  of  some 
of  his  neighbors,  who  used  to  keep  about  the  tavern. 

"  Well  —  who  are  they  ?  —  name  them." 

Rip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired, 
"  Where's  Nicholas  Ved'der?" 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while,  when  an  old  man 


1 6  Washington   Irving 

replied,  in  a  thin  piping  voice,  "  Nicholas  Vedder !  why, 
he  is  dead  and  gone  these  eighteen  years !  There  was  a 
wooden  tombstone  in  the  church-yard  that  used  to  tell  all 
about  him,  but  that's  rotten  and  gone  too." 

"  Where's  Brom  Butcher  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the  beginning  of  the 
war ;  some  say  he  was  killed  at  the  storming  of  Stony 
Point  —  others  say  he  was  drowned  in  a  squall  at  the  foot 
of  Antony's  Nose.  I  don't  know  —  he  never  came  back 

again." 
& 

"Where's  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster?  " 

"  He  went  off  to  the  wars  too,  was  a  great  militia  gen- 
eral, and  is  now  in  congress." 

Rip's  heart  died  away  at  hearing  of  these  sad  changes 
in  his  home  and  friends,  and  finding  himself  thus  alone 
in  the  world.  Every  answer  puzzled  him,  too,  by  treating 
of  such  enormous  lapses  of  time,  and  of  matters  which  he 
could  not  understand  :  war  —  congress  —  Stony  Point ;  — 
he  had  no  courage  to  ask  after  any  more  friends,  but 
cried  out  in  despair,  "  Does  nobody  here  know  Rip  Van 
Winkle  ? " 

"  Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  "  exclaimed  two  or  three.  "  Oh, 
to  be  sure !  that's  Rip  Van  Winkle  yonder,  leaning 
against  the  tree." 

Rip  looked,  and  beheld  a  precise  counterpart  of  him- 
self, as  he  went  up  the  mountain  ;  apparently  as  lazy,  and 
certainly  as  ragged.  The  poor  fellow  was  now  com- 
pletely confounded.  He  doubted  his  own  identity,  and 
whether  he  was  himself  or  another  man.  In  the  midst  of 
his  bewilderment,  the  man  in  the  cocked  hat  demanded 
who  he  was,  and  what  was  his  name  ? 

"  God  knows,"  exclaimed  he,  at  his  wit's  end;  "I'm 
not  myself  —  I'm  somebody  else  —  that's  me  yonder  —  no 


Rip  Van   Winkle  17 

—  that's  somebody  else  got  into  my  shoes  —  I  was  myself 
ast  night,  but  I  fell  asleep  on  the  mountain,  and  they've 
changed  my  gun,  and  every  thing's  changed^  and  I'm 
changed,  and  I  can't  tell  what's  my  name,  or  who  I  am !  " 

The  by-standers  began  now  to  look  at  each  other,  nod, 
wink  significantly,  and  tap  their  fingers  against  their  fore- 
leads.  There  was  a  whisper,  also,  about  securing  the 
,  and  keeping  the  old  fellow  from  doing  mischief,  at 
the  very  suggestion  of  which  the  self-important  man  in 
[he  cocked  hat  retired  with  some  precipitation.  At  this 
critical  moment  a  fresh  comely  woman  pressed  through 
the  throng  to  get  a  peep  at  the  gray-bearded  man.  She 
lad  a  chubby  child  in  her  arms,  which,  frightened  at  his 
ooks,  began  to  cry.  "Hush,  Rip,"  cried  she,  "hush,, 
you  little  fool;  the  old  man  won't  hurt  you."  The  name 
of  the  child,  the  air  of  the  mother,  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
all  awakened  a  train  of  recollections  in  his  mind.  "  What 
is  your  name,  my  good  woman  ?  "  asked  he. 

"Judith  Gardenier." 

"  And  your  father's  name  ?  " 

"  Ah,  poor  man,  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  his  name,  but  it's 
twenty  years  since  he  went  away  from  home  with  his  gun, 
and  never  has  been  heard  of  since  —  his  dog  came  home 
without  him ;  but  whether  he  shot  himself,  or  was  carried 
away  by  the  Indians,  nobody  can  tell.  I  was  then  but  a 
little  girl." 

Rip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask ;  but  he  put  it 
vvith  a  faltering  voice  : 

"  Where's  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  too  had  died  but  a  short  time  since ;  she 
Droke  a  blood-vessel  in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a  New-England 
meddler." 

There  was  a  drop  of  comfort,   at  least,  in  this  intelli- 


1 8  Washington   Irving 

gence.  The  honest  man  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 
He  caught  his  daughter  and  her  child  in  his  arms.  "  I 
am  your  father!"  cried  he  —  "Young  Rip  Van  Winkle 
once  —  old  Rip  Van  Winkle  now  1  —  Does  nobody  know 
poor  Rip  Van  Winkle  ?  " 

All  stood  amazed,  until  an  old  woman,  tottering  out 
from  among  the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and 
peering  under  it  in  his  face  for  a  moment,  exclaimed, 
"Sure  enough!  it  is  Rip  Van  Winkle  —  it  is  himself! 
Welcome  home,  again,  old  neighbor  —  Why,  where  have 
you  been  these  twenty  long  years  ?  " 

Rip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole  twenty  years 
had  been  to  him  but  as  one  night.  The  neighbors  stared 
when  they  heard  it ;  some  were  seen  to  wink  at  each 
other,  and  put  their  tongues  in  their  cheeks :  and  the  self- 
important  man  in  the  cocked  hat,  who,  when  the  alarm 
was  over,  had  returned  to  the  field,  screwed  down  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  and  shook  his  head  —  upon  which 
there  was  a  general  shaking  of  the  head  throughout  the 
assemblage. 

It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the  opinion  of  old 
Peter  Vanderdonk,  who  was  seen  slowly  advancing  up  the 
road.  He  was  a  descendant  of  the  historian  of  that  name, 
who  wrote  one  of  the  earliest  accounts  of  the  province. 
Peter  was  the  most  ancient  inhabitant  of  the  village,  and 
well  versed  in  all  the  wonderful  events  and  traditions  of 
the  neighborhood.  He  recollected  Rip  at  once,  and  cor- 
roborated his  story  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner.  He 
assured  the  company  that  it  was  a  fact,  handed  down 
from  his  ancestor  the  historian,  that  the  Kaatskill  moun- 
tains had  always  been  haunted  by  strange  beings.  Thatj 
it  was  affirmed  that  the  great  Hendrick  Hudson,  the  first 
discoverer  of  the  river  and  country,  kept  a  kind  of  vigil 


Rip  Van   Winkle  19 

there  every  twenty  years,  with  his  crew  of  the  Half-moon  ; 
being  permitted  in  this  way  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his 
enterprise,  and  keep  a  guardian  eye  upon  the  river,  and 
the  great  city  called  by  his  name.  That  his  father  had 
once  seen  them  in  their  old  Dutch  dresses  playing  at  nine- 
pins in  a  hollow  of  the  mountain  ;  and  that  he  himself  had 
heard,  one  summer  afternoon,  the  sound  of  their  balls, 
like  distant  peals  of  thunder. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company  broke  up,  and 
returned  to  the  more  important  concerns  of  the  election. 
Rip's  daughter  took  him  home  to  live  with  her ;  she  had 
a  snug,  well-furnished  house,  and  a  stout  cheery  farmer 
for  a  husband,  whom  Rip  recollected  for  one  of  the 
urchins  that  used  to  climb  upon  his  back.  As  to  Rip's 
son  and  heir,  who  was  the  ditto  of  himself,  seen  leaning 
against  the  tree,  he  was  employed  to  work  on  the  farm  ; 
but  evinced  an  hereditary  disposition  to  attend  to  any 
thing  else  but  his  business. 

Rip  now  resumed  his  old  walks  and  habits  ;  he  soon 
found  many  of  his  former  cronies,  though  all  rather  the 
worse  for  the  wear  and  tear  of  time ;  and  preferred  mak- 
ing friends  among  the  rising  generation,  with  whom  he 
soon  grew  into  great  favor. 

Having  nothing  to  do  at  home,  and  being  arrived  at 
that  happy  age  when  a  man  can  be  idle  with  impunity,  he 
took  his  place  once  more  on  the  bench  at  the  inn  door, 
and  was  reverenced  as  one  of  the  patriarchs  of  the  vil- 
lage, and  a  chronicle  of  the  old  times  "  before  the  war." 
was  some  time  before  he  could  get  into  the  regular 
, track  of  gossip,  or  could  be  made  to  comprehend  the 
strange  events  that  had  taken  place  during  his  torpor. 
How  that  there  had  been  a  revolutionary  war  —  that  the 
country  had  thrown  off  the  yoke  of  old  England  —  and 


2O  Washington   Irving 

that,  instead  of  being  a  subject  of  his  Majesty  George  the 
Third,  he  was  now  a  free  citizen  of  the  United  States. 
Rip,  in  fact,  was  no  politician  ;  the  changes  of  states  and 
empires  made  but  little  impression  on  him  ;  but  there  was 
one  species  of  despotism  under  which  he  had  long  groaned, 
and  that  was  —  petticoat  government.  Happily  that  was 
at  an  end ;  he  had  got  his  neck  out  of  the  yoke  of  matri- 
mony, and  could  go  in  and  out  whenever  he  pleased, 
without  dreading  the  tyranny  of  Dame  Van  Winkle. 
Whenever  her  name  was  mentioned,  however,  he  shook 
his  head,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  cast  up  his  eyes ; 
which  might  pass  either  for  an  expression  of  resignation 
to  his  fate,  or  joy  at  his  deliverance. 

He  used  to  tell  his  story  to  every  stranger  that  arrived 
at  Mr.  Doolittle's  hotel.  He  was  observed,  at  first,  to 
vary  on  some  points  every  time  he  told  it,  which  was, 
doubtless,  owing  to  his  having  so  recently  awaked.  It 
at  last  settled  down  precisely  to  the  tale  I  have  related, 
and  not  a  man,  woman,  or  child  in  the  neighborhood,  but 
knew  it  by  heart.  Some  always  pretended  to  doubt  the 
reality  of  it,  and  insisted  that  Rip  had  been  out  of  his 
head  and  that  this  was  one  point  on  which  he  always  rel 
mained  flighty.  The  old  Dutch  inhabitants,  however, 
almost  universally  gave  it  full  credit.  Even  to  this  clay 
they  never  hear  a  thunderstorm  of  a  summer  afternoon 
about  the  Kaatskill,  but  they  say  Hendrick  Hudson  and 
his  crew  are  at  their  game  of  nine-pins ;  and  it  is  a  com- 
mon wish,  of  all  hen-pecked  husbands  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, when  life  hangs  heavy  on  their  hands,  that  they 
might  have  a  quieting  draught  out  of  Rip  Van  Winkle's 
flagon. 


Rip  Van   Winkle  21 

NOTE 

The  foregoing  Tale,  one  would  suspect,  had  been  suggested  to 
Mr.  Knickerbocker  by  a  little  German  superstition  about  the  Em- 
peror Frederick  der  Rothbart,  and  the  Kypphaiiser  mountain  :  the 
subjoined  note,  however,  which  he  had  appended  to  the  tale,  shows 
that  it  is  an  absolute  fact,  narrated  with  his  usual  fidelity : 

"  The  story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle  may  seem  incredible  to  many, 
but  nevertheless  I  give  it  my  full  belief,  for  I  know  the  vicinity  of 
our  old  Dutch  settlements  to  have  been  very  subject  to  marvellous 
events  and  appearances.  Indeed,  I  have  heard  many  stranger 
stories  than  this,  in  the  villages  along  the  Hudson ;  all  of  which 
were  too  well  authenticated  to  admit  of  a  doubt.  I  have  even 
talked  with  Rip  Van  Winkle  myself,  who,  when  last  I  saw  him,  was 
very  venerable  old  man,  and  so  perfectly  rational  and  consistent 
on  every  other  point,  that  I  think  no  conscientious  person  could 
refuse  to  take  this  into  the  bargain ;  nay,  I  have  seen  a  certificate 
on  the  subject  taken  before  a  country  justice  and  signed  with  a 
cross,  in  the  justice's  own  handwriting.  The  story,  therefore,  is 
beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt.  D.  K."  —  [AUTHOR'S  NOTE.] 

POSTSCRIPT 

The  following  are  travelling  notes  from  a  memorandum-book  of 
Mr.  Knickerbocker: 

The  Kaatsberg,  or  Catskill  mountains,  have  always  been  a  region 
full  of  fable.  The  Indians  considered  them  the  abode  of  spirits, 
who  influenced  the  weather,  spreading  sunshine  or  clouds  over  the 
landscape,  and  sending  good  or  bad  hunting  seasons.  They  were 
ruled  by  an  old  squaw  spirit,  said  to  be  their  mother.  She  dwelt 
on  the  highest  peak  of  the  Catskills,  and  had  charge  of  the  doors 
of  day  and  night  to  open  and  shut  them  at  the  proper  hour.  She 
hung  up  the  new  moons  in  the  skies,  and  cut  up  the  old  ones  into 
stars.  In  times  of  drought,  if  properly  propitiated,  she  would  spin 
light  summer  clouds  out  of  cobwebs  and  morning  dew,  and  send 
them  off  from  the  crest  of  the  mountain,  flake  after  flake,  like 
flakes  of  carded  cotton,  to  float  in  the  air ;  until,  dissolved  by  the 
heat  of  the  sun,  they  would  fall  in  gentle  showers,  causing  the 
grass  to  spring,  the  fruits  to  ripen,  and  the  corn  to  grow  an  inch 


22  Washington   Irving 

an  hour.  If  displeased,  however,  she  would  brew  up  clouds  black 
as  ink,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  them  like  a  bottle-bellied  spider  in 
the  midst  of  its  web  ;  and  when  these  clouds  broke,  woe  betide  the 
valleys. 

In  old  times,  say  the  Indian  traditions,  there  was  a  kind  of 
Manitou  or  Spirit,  who  kept  about  the  wildest  recesses  of  the  Cats- 
kill  Mountains,  and  took  a  mischievous  pleasure  in  wreaking  all 
kinds  of  evils  and  vexations  upon  the  red  men.  Sometimes  he 
would  assume  the  form  of  a  bear,  a  panther,  or  a  deer,  lead  the 
bewildered  hunter  a  weary  chase  through  tangled  forests  and 
among  ragged  rocks ;  and  then  spring  off  with  a  loud  ho !  ho ! 
leaving  him  aghast  on  the  brink  of  a  beetling  precipice  or  raging 
torrent. 

The  favorite  abode  of  this  Manitou  is  still  shown.  It  is  a  great 
rock  or  cliff  on  the  loneliest  part  of  the  mountains,  and,  from  the 
flowering  vines  which  clamber  about  it,  and  the  wild  flowers  which 
abound  in  its  neighborhood,  is  known  by  the  name  of  the  Garden 
Rock.  Near  the  foot  of  it  is  a  small  lake,  the  haunt  of  the  solitary 
bittern,  with  water-snakes  basking  in  the  sun  on  the  leaves  of  the 
pond-lilies  which  lie  on  the  surface.  This  place  was  held  in  great 
awe  by  the  Indians,  insomuch  that  the  boldest  hunter  would  not 
pursue  his  game  within  its  precincts.  Once  upon  a  time,  however, 
a  hunter  who  had  lost  his  way,  penetrated  to  the  garden  rock, 
where  he  beheld  a  number  of  gourds  placed  in  the  crotches  of 
trees.  One  of  these  he  seized  and  made  off  with  it,  but  in  the  j 
hurry  of  his  retreat  he  let  it  fall  among  the  rocks,  when  a  great 
stream  gushed  forth,  which  washed  him  away  and  swept  him  down 
precipices,  where  he  was  dashed  to  pieces,  and  the  stream  made  its 
way  to  the  Hudson,  and  continues  to  flow  to  the  present  day  ; 
being  the  identical  stream  known  by  the  name  of  the  Kaaters-kill. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


THE  GOLD   BUG 

"  What  ho  !  what  ho  !  this  fellow  is  dancing  mad  ! 
He  hath  been  bitten  by  the  Tarantula." 

All  in  the  Wrong. 

Many  years  ago  I  contracted  an  intimacy  with  a  Mr. 
William  Legrand.  He  was  of  an  ancient  Huguenot 
family,  and  had  once  been  wealthy ;  but  a  series  of  mis- 
fortunes had  reduced  him  to  want.  To  avoid  the  mortifi- 
cation consequent  upon  his  disasters,  he  left  New  Orleans, 
the  city  of  his  forefathers,  and  took  up  his  residence  at 
Sullivan's  Island,  near  Charleston,  South  Carolina. 

This  island  is  a  very  singular  one.  It  consists  of  little 
else  than  the  sea  sand,  and  is  about  three  miles  long.  Its 
breadth  at  no  point  exceeds  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  It  is 
separated  from  the  main*  land  by  a  scarcely  perceptible 
creek,  oozing  its  way  through  a  wilderness  of  reeds  and 
slime,  a  favorite  resort  of  the  marsh-hen.  The  vegetation, 
as  might  be  supposed,  is  scant,  or  at  least  dwarfish.  No 
trees  of  any  magnitude  are  to  be  seen.  Near  the  western 
extremity,  where  Fort  Moultrie  stands,  and  where  are 
some  miserable  frame  buildings,  tenanted  during  summer 
by  the  fugitives  from  Charleston  dust  and  fever,  may  be 
found,  indeed,  the  bristly  palmetto  ;  but  the  whole  island, 
with  the  exception  of  the  western  point,  and  a  line  of  hard, 
white  beach  on  the  seacoast,  is  covered  with  a  dense 
undergrowth  of  sweet  myrtle,  so  much  prized  by  the  horti- 
culturalists  of  England.  The  shrub  here  often  attains  the 

23 


24  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

height  of  fifteen  or  twenty  feet,  and  forms  an  almost  im- 
penetrable coppice,  burthening  the  air  with  its  fragrance. 

In  the  inmost  recesses  of  this  coppice,  not  far  from  the 
eastern  or  more  remote  end  of  the  island,  Legrand  had 
built  himself  a  small  hut,  which  he  occupied  when  I  first, 
by  mere  accident,  made  his  acquaintance.  This  soon 
ripened  into  friendship,  —  for  there  was  much  in  the 
recluse  to  excite  interest  and  esteem.  I  found  him  well 
educated,  with  unusual  powers  of  mind,  but  infected  with 
misanthropy,  and  subject  to  perverse  moods  of  alternate 
enthusiasm  and  melancholy.  He  had  with  him  many 
books,  but  rarely  employed  them.  His  chief  amusements 
were  gunning  and  fishing,  or  sauntering  along  the  beach 
and  through  the  myrtles  in  quest  of  shells  or  entomological 
specimens ;  his  collection  of  the  latter  might  have  been 
envied  by  a  Swammerdam.  In  these  excursions  he  was 
usually  accompanied  by  an  old  negro  called  Jupiter,  who 
had  been  manumitted  before  the  reverses  of  the  family, 
but  who  could  be  induced,  neither  by  threats  nor  by  prom- 
ises, to  abandon  what  he  considered  his  right  of  attendance 
upon  the  footsteps  of  his  young  "  Massa  Will."  It  is  not 
improbable  that  the  relatives  of  Legrand,  conceiving  him 
to  be  somewhat  unsettled  in  intellect,  had  contrived  to 
instil  this  obstinacy  into  Jupiter,  with  a  view  to  the  super- 
vision and  guardianship  of  the  wanderer. 

The  winters  in  the  latitude  of  Sullivan's  Island  are  sel- 
dom very  severe,  and  in  the  fall  of  the  year  it  is  a  rare 
event  indeed  when  a  fire  is  considered  necessary.  About 
the  middle  of  October,  18 — ,  there  occurred,  however,  a 
day  of  remarkable  chilliness.  Just  before  sunset  I  scram- 
bled my  way  through  the  evergreens  to  the  hut  of  my 
friend,  whom  I  had  not  visited  for  several  weeks,  my  resi- 
dence being  at  that  time  in  Charleston,  a  distance  of  nine 


The  Gold  Bug  25 

miles  from  the  island,  while  the  facilities  of  passage  and 
re-passage  were  very  far  behind  those  of  the  present  day. 
Upon  reaching  the  hut  I  rapped,  as  was  my  custom  ;  and, 
getting  no  reply,  sought  for  the  key  where  I  knew  it  was 
secreted,  unlocked  the  door,  and  went  in.  A  fine  fire  was 
blazing  upon  the  hearth.  It  was  a  novelty,  and  by  no 
means  an  ungrateful  one.  I  threw  off  an  overcoat,  took 
an  armchair  by  the  crackling  logs,  and  awaited  patiently 
the  arrival  of  my  hosts. 

Soon  after  dark  they  arrived,  and  gave  me  a  most  cordial 
welcome.  Jupiter,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  bustled  about 
to  prepare  some  marsh-hens  for  supper.  Legrand  was  in 
one  of  his  fits  —  how  else  shall  I  term  them  ?  —  of  enthu- 
siasm. He  had  found  an  unknown  bivalve,  forming  a  new 
genus  ;  and,  more  than  this,  he  had  hunted  down  and 
secured,  with  Jupiter's  assistance,  a  scarabceus  which  he 
believed  to  be  totally  new,  but  in  respect  to  which  he 
wished  to  have  my  opinion  on  the  morrow. 

"And  why  not  to-night?"  I  asked,  rubbing  my  hands 
over  the  blaze,  and  wishing  the  whole  tribe  of  scarabcei  at 
the  devil. 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  only  known  you  were  here ! "  said 
Legrand ;  "  but  it's  so  long  since  I  saw  you,  and  how 
could  I  foresee  that  you  would  pay  me  a  visit  this  very 
night  of  all  others  ?  As  I  was  coming  home  I  met  Lieu- 
tenant G—  -  from  the  fort,  and,  very  foolishly,  I  lent  him 
the  bug  ;  so  it  will  be  impossible  for  you  to  see  it  until 
the  morning.  Stay  here  to-night,  and  I  will  send  Jup 
down  for  it  at  sunrise.  It  is  the  loveliest  thing  in 
creation  !  " 

»"  What  —  sunrise?" 
"  Nonsense  !  no  !  the  bug.    It  is  of  a  brilliant  gold  color, 
about  the  size  of  a  large  hickory  nut,  with  two  jet  black 


16  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

spots  near  one  extremity  of  the  back,  another,  somewhat 
longer,  at  the  other.  The  antenna  are  " 

"  Dey  ain't  no  tin  in  him,  Massa  Will,  I  keep  a-telling 
on  you,"  here  interrupted  Jupiter ;  "  de  bug  is  a  goole- 
bug,  solid,  ebery  bit  of  him,  inside  and  all,  sep  him  wing 
—  neber  feel  half  so  hebby  a  bug  in  my  life." 

"Well,  suppose  it  is,  Jup,"  replied  Legrand,  somewhat 
more  earnestly,  it  seemed  to  me,  than  the  case  demanded, 
"  is  that  any  reason  for  you  letting  the  birds  burn  ?  The 
color  "  —  here  he  turned  to  me  —  "  is  really  almost  enough 
to  warrant  Jupiter's  idea.  You  never  saw  a  more  brilliant 
metallic  lustre  than  the  scales  emit ;  but  of  this  you  can- 
not judge  till  to-morrow.  In  the  meantime  I  can  give  you 
some  idea  of  the  shape."  Saying  this,  he  seated  himself 
at  a  small  table  on  which  were  a  pen  and  ink,  but  no 
paper.  He  looked  for  some  in  a  drawer,  but  found  none. 

"Never  mind,"  said  he  at  length,  "this  will  answer;  " 
and  he  drew  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  a  scrap  of  what  I 
took  to  be  very  dirty  foolscap,  and  made  upon  it  a  rough 
drawing  with  the  pen.  While  he  did  this,  I  retained  my 
seat  by  the  fire,  for  I  was  still  chilly.  When  the  design 
was  complete  he  handed  it  to  me  without  rising.  As  I 
received  it,  a  loud  growl  was  heard,  succeeded  by  a 
scratching  at  the  door.  Jupiter  opened  it,  and  a  large 
Newfoundland,  belonging  to  Legrand,  rushed  in,  leaped 
upon  my  shoulders  and  loaded  me  with  caresses  ;  for  I 
had  shown  him  much  attention  during  previous  visits. 
When  his  gambols  were  over,  I  looked  at  the  paper,  and, 
to  speak  the  truth,  found  myself  not  a  little  puzzled  at 
what  my  friend  had  depicted. 

"  Well !  "  I  said,  after  contemplating  it  for  some  min- 
utes, "  this  is  a  strange  scarabceus,  I  must  confess  ;  new  to 
me  ;  never  saw  anything  like  it  before  —  unless  it  was  a 


The  Gold  Bug  27 

skull,  or  a  death's-head  —  which  it  more  nearly  resembles 
than  anything  else  that  has  come  under  my  observation." 

"A  death's-head!"  echoed  Legrand.  "Oh  —  yes- 
well,  it  has  something  of  that  appearance  upon  paper,  no 
doubt.  The  two  upper  black  spots  look  like  eyes,  eh  ? 
and  the  longer  one  at  the  bottom  like  a  mouth  —  and  then 
the  shape  of  the  whole  is  oval." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  I ;  "  but,  Legrand,  I  fear  you  are 
no  artist.  I  must  wait  until  I  see  the  beetle  itself,  if  I  am 
to  form  any  idea  of  its  personal  appearance." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  a  little  nettled,  "  I  draw 
tolerably  —  should  do  it  at  least,  have  had  good  masters  — 
and  flatter  myself  that  I  am  not  quite  a  blockhead." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  joking  then,"  said  I ; 
"  this  is  a  very  passable  skull —  indeed,  I  may  say  that  it 
is  a  very  excellent  skull,  according  to  the  vulgar  notions 
about  such  specimens  of  physiology  —  and  your  scarabceus 
must  be  the  queerest  scarabaus  in  the  world  if  it  resembles 
it.  Why,  we  may  get  up  a  very  thrilling  bit  of  supersti- 
tion upon  this  hint.  I  presume  you  will  call  the  bug 
scarabceus  caput  hominis,  or  something  of  that  kind  — 
there  are  many  similar  titles  in  the  Natural  Histories. 
But  where  are  the  antenna  you  spoke  of  ?  " 

"The  antennce!"  said  Legrand,  who  seemed  to  be  get- 
ting unaccountably  warm  upon  the  subject ;  "  I  am  sure 
you  must  see  the  antenna.  I  made  them  as  distinct  as 
they  are  in  the  original  insect,  and  I  presume  that  is 
sufficient." 

"  Well,  well,"  I  said,  "  perhaps  you  have —  still  I  don't 
see  them;"  and  I  handed  him  the  paper  without  addi- 
tional remark,  not  wishing  to  ruffle  his  temper ;  but  I  was 
much  surprised  at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken ;  his  ill- 
humor  puzzled  me  —  and,  as  for  the  drawing  of  the  beetle, 


28  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

there  were  positively  no  antenna  visible,  and  the  whole  did 
bear  a  very  close  resemblance  to  the  ordinary  cuts  of  a 
death's-head. 

He  received  the  paper  very  peevishly,  and  was  about  to 
crumple  it,  apparently  to  throw  it  in  the  fire,  when  a  casual 
glance  at  the  design  seemed  suddenly  to  rivet  his  attention. 
In  an  instant  his  face  grew  violently  red  —  in  another  as 
excessively  pale.  For  some  minutes  he  continued  to 
scrutinize  the  drawing  minutely  where  he  sat.  At  length 
he  arose,  took  a  candle  from  the  table,  and  proceeded  to 
seat  himself  upon  a  sea-chest  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
room.  Here  again  he  made  an  anxious  examination  of 
the  paper,  turning  it  in  all  directions.  He  said  nothing, 
however,  and  his  conduct  greatly  astonished  me  ;  yet  I 
thought  it  prudent  not  to  exacerbate  the  growing  moodi- 
ness  of  his  temper  by  any  comment.  Presently  he  took 
from  his  coat  pocket  a  wallet,  placed  the  paper  carefully 
in  it,  and  deposited  both  in  a  writing-desk,  which  he 
locked.  He  now  grew  more  composed  in  his  demeanor ; 
but  his  original  air  of  enthusiasm  had  quite  disappeared. 
Yet  he  seemed  not  so  much  sulky  as  abstracted.  As  the 
evening  wore  away  he  became  more  and  more  absorbed  in 
revery,  from  which  no  sallies  of  mine  could  arouse  him. 
It  had  been  my  intention  to  pass  the  night  at  the  hut,  as  I 
had  frequently  done  before,  but,  seeing  my  host  in  this 
mood,  I  deemed  it  proper  to  take  leave.  He  did  not  press 
me  to  remain,  but,  as  I  departed,  he  shook  my  hand  with 
even  more  than  his  usual  cordiality. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  this  (and  during  the  interval 
I  had  seen  nothing  of  Legrand")  when  I  received  a  visit, 
at  Charleston,  from  his  man  Jupiter.  I  had  never  seen 
the  good  old  negro  look  so  dispirited,  and  I  feared  that 
some  serious  disaster  had  befallen  my  friend. 


The  Gold  Bug  29 

"Well,  Jup,"  said  I,  "what  is  the  matter  now? — how 
is  your  master  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  speak  de  troof,  massa,  him  not  so  berry  well 
as  mought  be." 

4 Not  well!  I  am  truly  sorry  to  hear  it.  What  does  he 
complain  of  ?  " 

:  Dar  !  dat's  it !  —  him  never  plain  of  notin  —  but  him 
berry  sick  for  all  dat." 

"  Very  sick,  Jupiter! — why  didn't  you  say  so  at  once  ? 
Is  he  confined  to  bed  ?  " 

"No,  dat  he  aint !  —  he  aint  find  nowhar  —  dat's  just 
whar  de  shoe  pinch  —  my  mind  is  got  to  be  berry  hebby 
bout  poor  Massa  Will." 

"  Jupiter,  I  should  like  to  understand  what  it  is  you  are 
talking  about.  You  say  your  master  is  sick.  Hasn't  he 
told  you  what  ails  him? " 

"  Why,  massa,  taint  worf  while  for  to  git  mad  about  de 
matter  —  Massa  Will  say  noffin  at  all  aint  de  matter  wid 
him  —  but  den  what  make  him  go  about  looking  dis  here 
way,  wid  he  head  down  and  he  soldiers  up,  and  as  white 
as  a  gose  ?  And  den  he  keep  a  syphon  all  de  time  " 

"  Keeps  a  what,  Jupiter  ?  " 

"  Keeps  a  syphon  wid  de  figgurs  on  de  slate  —  de  queer- 
est figgurs  I  ebber  did  see.  Ise  gittin  to  be  skeered,  I 
tell  you.  Hab  for  to  keep  mighty  tight  eye  pon  him 
noovers.  Todder  day  he  gib  me  slip  fore  de  sun  up  and 
was  gone  de  whole  ob  de  blessed  day.  I  had  a  big  stick 
ready  cut  for  to  gib  him  deuced  good  beating  when  he  did 
come  —  but  Ise  sich  a  fool  dat  I  hadn't  de  heart  arter  all 
—  he  look  so  berry  poorly." 

"Eh?  —  what?  —  ah,   yes!  —  upon  the  whole    I    think 
you  had  better  not  be  too  severe  with  the  poor  fellow  — 
don't  flog  him,  Jupiter  —  he  can't  very  well  stand  it  —  but 


30  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

can  you  form  no  idea  of  what  has  occasioned  this  illness,  j 
or  rather  this  change  of  conduct  ?     Has  anything  unpleas- 
ant happened  since  I  saw  you  ?  " 

"  No,  massa,  dey  aint  bin  noffin  onpleasant  since  den  — 
'twas  fore  den  I'm  feared — 'twas  de  berry  day  you  was  i 
dare." 

"  How  ?  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  massa,  I  mean  de  bug  —  dare  now." 

"  The  what?" 

"  De  bug — I'm  berry  sartain  that  Massa  Will  bin  bit 
somewhere  bout  de  head  by  dat  goole-bug." 

"  And  what  cause  have  you,  Jupiter,  for  such  a  supposi- 1 
tion  ?  " 

"  Claws  enuff,  massa,  and  mouff  too.  I  nebber  did  see 
sich  a  deuced  bug  —  he  kick  and  he  bite  ebery  ting  what 
cum  near  him.  Massa  Will  cotch  him  fuss,  but  had  for  to 
let  him  go  gin  mighty  quick,  I  tell  you  —  den  was  de  time 
he  must  hab  got  debite.  I  didn't  like  de  look  of  de  bug 
mouff,  myself,  no  how,  so  I  wouldn't  take  hold  ob  him  wid 
my  finger,  but  I  cotch  him  wid  a  piece  ob  paper  dat  I 
found.  I  rap  him  up  in  de  paper  and  stuff  piece  ob  it  in 
he  mouff  —  dad  was  de  way." 

"  And  you  think,  then,  that  your  master  was  really  bitten 
by  the  beetle,  and  that  the  bite  made  him  sick  ? " 

"I  don't  tink  noffin  bout  it  —  I  nose  it.  What  make 
him  dream  bout  de  goole  so  much,  if  taint  cause  he  bit  by 
de  goole-bug?  Ise  heerd  bout  dem  goole-bugs  fore  dis." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  he  dreams  about  gold  ?  " 

"  How  I  know  ?  why,  cause  he  talk  bout  it  in  he  sleep, 
dat's  how  I  nose." 

"  Well,  Jup,  perhaps  you  are  right ;  but  to  what  fortu- 
nate circumstance  am  I  to  attribute  the  honor  of  a  visit 
from  you  to-day  ?  " 


The  Gold   Bug  31 

"  What  de  matter,  massa  ?  " 
"  "  Did  you  bring  any  message  from  Mr.  Legrand  ?  " 

"  No,  massa,  I  bring  dis  here  pissel ;  "  and  here  Jupiter 
handed  me  a  note  which  ran  thus :  — 


:  MY  DEAR 


Why  have  I  not  seen  you  for  so  long  a  time  ?  I  hope 
:  you  have  not  been  so  foolish  as  to  take  offence  at  any 
;  little  brusquerie  of  mine ;  but  no,  that  is  improbable. 

Since  I  saw  you  I  have  had  great  cause  for  anxiety.  I 
[;have  something  to  tell  you,  yet  scarcely  know  how  to  tell 
[  it,  or  whether  I  should  tell  it  at  all. 

I  have  not  been  quite  well  for  some  days  past,  and  poor 
fold  Jup  annoys  me,  almost  beyond  endurance,  by  his  well- 
i meant  attentions.  Would  you  believe  it?  —  he  had  pre- 
i  pared  a  huge  stick,  the  other  day,  with  which  to  chastise 
tme  for  giving  him  the  slip,  and  spending  the  day,  solus, 
\ among  the  hills  on  the  main  land.  I  verily  believe  that 
\  my  ill  looks  alone  saved  me  a  flogging. 

I  have  made  no  addition  to  my  cabinet  since  we  met. 

If  you  can,  in  any  way,  make  it  convenient,  come  over 
with  Jupiter.     Do  come.     I  wish  to  see  you  to-night,  upon ' 
I  business  of   importance.     I  assure  you  that  it  is  of   the 
\highest  importance.  Ever  yours, 

WILLIAM  LEGRAND." 

There  was  something  in  the  tci  e  of  this  note  which 
jigave  me  great  uneasiness.  Its  whole  style  differed  mate- 
\  rially  from  that  of  Legrand.  What  could  he  be  dreaming 
:of?  What  new  crotchet  possessed  his  excitable  brain? 
(What  "  business  of  the  highest  importance"  could  he 
\  possibly  have  to  transact  ?  Jupiter's  account  of  him 
;  boded  no  good.  I  dreaded  lest  the  continued  pressure 
of  misfortune  had,  at  length,  fairly  unsettled  the  reason 


32  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

of  my  friend.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  therefore, 
I  prepared  to  accompany  the  negro. 

Upon  reaching  the  wharf,  I  noticed  a  scythe  and  three 
spades,  all  apparently  new,  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat  in  which  we  were  to  embark. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this,  Jup  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Him  syfe,  massa,  and  spade." 

"  Very  true  ;  but  what  are  they  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Him  de  syfe  and  de  spade  what  Massa  Will  sis  pon 
my  buying  for  him  in  de  town,  and  de  debbil's  own  lot  of 
money  I  had  to  gib  for  em." 

"  But  what,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  mysterious,  is 
your  *  Massa  Will '  going  to  do  with  scythes  and  spades  ?  " 

"  Dat's  more  dan  /  know,  and  debbil  take  me  if  I  don't 
believe  'tis  more  dan  he  know,  too.  But  it's  all  cum  ob 
de  bug." 

Finding  that  no  satisfaction  was  to  be  obtained  of 
Jupiter,  whose  whole  intellect  seemed  to  be  absorbed  by 
"  de  bug,"  I  now  stepped  into  the  boat  and  made  sail. 
With  a  fair  and  strong  breeze  we  soon  ran  into  the  little 
cove  to  the  northward  of  Fort  Moultrie,  and  a  walk  of 
some  two  miles  brought  us  to  the  hut.  It  was  about  three 
in  the  afternoon  when  we  arrived.  Legrand  had  been 
awaiting  us  in  eager  expectation.  He  grasped  my  hand 
with  a  nervous  empressement  which  alarmed  me,  and 
strengthened  the  suspicions  already  entertained.  His 
countenance  was  pale  even  to  ghastliness,  and  his  deep- 
set  eyes  glared  with  unnatural  lustre.  After  some  in- 
quiries respecting  his  health,  I  asked  him,  not  knowing 
what  better  to  say,  if  he  had  yet  obtained  the  scarabceus 
from  Lieutenant  G . 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  coloring  violently;  "I  got  it 
f  om  him  the  next  morning.  Nothing  should  tempt  me 


The  Gold   Bug  33 

;o  part  with  that  scarabczus.  Do  you  know  that  Jupiter 
s  quite  right  about  it  ?  " 

"In  what  way?"  I  asked,  with  a  sad  foreboding  at 
icart. 

"In  supposing  it  to  be  a  bug  of  real  gold.'''  He  said 
;his  with  an  air  of  profound  seriousness,  and  I  felt  inex- 
pressibly shocked. 

"This  bug  is  to  make  my  fortune,"  he  continued  with 

triumphant  smile,  "  to  reinstate  me  in  my  family  posses- 
sions. Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  I  prize  it  ?  Since  For- 
tune has  thought  fit  to  bestow  it  upon  me,  I  have  only  to 
use  it  properly,  and  I  shall  arrive  at  the  gold  of  which  it 
is  the  index.  Jupiter,  bring  me  that  scarabczus  /" 

"What,  de  bug,  massa  ?  I'd  rudder  not  go  fer  trubble 
dat  bug;  you  mus  git  him  for  your  own  self."  Hereupon 
Legrand  arose,  with  a  grave  and  stately  air,  and  brought 
me  the  beetle  from  a  glass  case  in  which  it  was  enclosed. 
It  was  a  beautiful  scarabceus,  and,  at  that  time,  unknown 
to  naturalists  —  of  course  a  great  prize  in  a  scientific  point 
of  view.  There  wrere  two  round  black  spots  near  one  ex- 
tremity of  the  back,  and  a  long  one  near  the  other.  The 
scales  were  exceedingly  hard  and  glossy,  with  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  burnished  gold.  The  weight  of  the  insect 
was  very  remarkable,  and,  taking  all  things  into  consider- 
ation, I  could  hardly  blame  Jupiter  for  his  opinion  respect- 
ing it ;  but  what  to  make  of  Legrand's  concordance  with 
that  opinion,  I  could  not,  for  the  life  of  me,  tell. 

"I  sent  for  you,"  said  he,  in  a  grandiloquent  tone, 
when  I  had  completed  my  examination  of  the  beetle,  "  I 
sent  for  you  that  I  might  have  your  counsel  and  assist- 
ance in  furthering  the  views  of  Fate  and  of  the  bug" 

"My  dear  Legrand,"  I  cried  interrupting  him,  "you 
are  certainly  unwell,  and  had  better  use  some  little  pre- 


34  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

cautions.  You  shall  go  to  bed,  and  I  will  remain  witl 
you  a  few  days  until  you  get  over  this.  You  are  feverisl 
and"- 

"  Feel  my  pulse,"  said  he. 

I  felt  it,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  found  not  the  slightes 
indication  of  fever. 

"  But  you  may  be  ill,  and  yet  have  no  fever.  Allov 
me  this  once  to  prescribe  for  you.  In  the  first  place,  g< 
to  bed.  In  the  next  "  — 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  interposed ;  "  I  am  as  well  a 
I  can  expect  to  be  under  the  excitement  which  I  suffer 
If  you  really  wish  me  well,  you  will  relieve  this  ex 
citement." 

"  And  how  is  this  to  be  done  ?  " 

"Very  easily.  Jupiter  and  myself  are  going  upon  ai 
expedition  into  the  hills  upon  the  mainland  ;  and  in  thi 
expedition  we  shall  need  the  aid  of  some  person  ii 
whom  we  can  confide.  You  are  the  only  one  we  cai 
trust.  Whether  we  succeed  or  fail,  the  excitement  whicl 
you  now  perceive  in  me  will  be  equally  allayed." 

"  I  am  anxious  to  oblige  you  in  any  way,"  I  replied 
"  but  do  you  mean  to  say  that  this  infernal  beetle  ha 
any  connection  with  your  expedition  into  the  hills." 

"  It  has." 

"  Then,  Legrand,  I  can  become  a  party  to  no  sue! 
absurd  proceeding." 

"I  am  sorry  —  very  sorry  —  for  we  shall  have  to  tr 
it  by  ourselves." 

"  Try  it  by  yourselves  !  The  man  is  surely  mad  1  bu 
stay,  how  long  do  you  propose  to  be  absent  ?  " 

"  Probably  all  night.  We  shall  start  immediately,  an< 
be  back,  at  all  events,  by  sunrise." 

"  And  will  you  promise  me,  upon  your  honor,  that  whei 


The  Gold  Bug  35 

;hJs  freak  of  yours  is  over,  and  the  bug  business  (good  God  1) 
jettled  to  your  satisfaction,  you  will  then  return  home  and 
:ollow  my  advice  implicitly,  as  that  of  your  physician  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  promise ;  and  now  let  us  be  off,  for  we  have 
o  time  to  lose." 

With  a  heavy  heart  I  accompanied  my  friend.  We 
Started  about  four  o'clock  —  Legrand,  Jupiter,  the  dog, 
:ind  myself.  Jupiter  had  with  him  the  scythe  and  spades, 
;he  \vhole  of  which  he  insisted  upon  carrying,  more 
.hrough  fear,  it  seemed  to  me,  of  trusting  either  of  the 
mplements  within  reach  of  his  master,  than  from  any 
excess  of  industry  or  complaisance.  His  demeanor  was 
logged  in  the  extreme,  and  "  dat  deuced  bug"  were  the 
jole  words  which  escaped  his  lips  during  the  journey. 
For  my  own  part,  I  had  charge  of  a  couple  of  dark  lan- 
;erns,  while  Legrand  contented  himself  with  the  scarabaus, 
which  he  carried  attached  to  the  end  of  a  bit  of  whip- 
:ord  ;  twirling  it  to  and  fro,  with  the  air  of  a  conjurer,  as 
went.  When  I  observed  this  last,  plain  evidence  of 
ny  friend's  aberration  of  mind,  I  could  scarcely  refrain 
rom  tears.  I  thought  it  best,  however,  to  humor  his 
ancy,  at  least  for  the  present,  or  until  I  could  adopt  some 
nore  energetic  measures  with  a  chance  of  success.  In 
he  meantime  I  endeavored,  but  all  in  vain,  to  sound  him 
n  regard  to  the  object  of  the  expedition.  Having  suc- 
:eeded  in  inducing  me  to  accompany  him,  he  seemed  un- 
willing to  hold  conversation  upon  any  topic  of  minor 
mportance,  and  to  all  my  questions  vouchsafed  no  other 
-eply  than  "  we  shall  see  1  " 

We  crossed  the  creek  at  the  head  of  the  island  by 
neans  of  a  skiff,  and,  ascending  the  high  grounds  on 
:he  shore  of  the  mainland,  proceeded  in  a  northwesterly 
direction,  through  a  tract  of  country  excessively  wild  and 


36  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

desolate,  where  no  trace  of  a  human  footstep  was  to  b( 
seen.  Legrand  led  the  way  with  decision ;  pausing  onl] 
for  an  instant,  here  and  there,  to  consult  what  appearec 
to  be  certain  landmarks  of  his  own  contrivance  upon  i 
former  occasion. 

In  this  manner  we  journeyed  for  about  two  hours,  anc 
the  sun  was  just  setting  when  we  entered  a  region  infi 
nitely  more  dreary  than  any  yet  seen.  It  was  a  specie* 
of  tableland,  near  the  summit  of  an  almost  inaccessible 
hill,  densely  wooded  from  base  to  pinnacle,  and  inter 
spersed  with  huge  crags  that  appeared  to  lie  loosely  upor 
the  soil,  and  in  many  cases  were  prevented  from  precipi- 
tating themselves  into  the  valleys  below,  merely  by  the 
support  of  the  trees  against  which  they  reclined.  Deep 
ravines,  in  various  directions,  gave  an  air  of  still  sternei 
solemnity  to  the  scene. 

The  natural  platform  to  which  -we  had  clambered  was 
thickly  overgrown  with  brambles,  through  which  we  soon 
discovered  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  force 
our  way  but  for  the  scythe  ;  and  Jupiter,  by  direction  oi 
his  master,  proceeded  to  clear  for  us  a  path  to  the  fool 
of  an  enormously  tall  tulip-tree,  which  stood,  with  some 
eight  or  ten  oaks,  upon  the  level,  and  far  surpassed  them 
all,  and  all  other  trees  which  I  had  then  ever  seen,  in  the 
beauty  of  its  foliage  and  form,  in  the  wide  spread  of  its 
branches,  and  in  the  general  majesty  of  its  appearance. 
When  we  "reached  this  tree,  Legrand  turned  to  Jupiter, 
and  asked  him  if  he  thought  he  could  climb  it.  The  old 
man  seemed  a  little  staggered  by  the  question,  and  for 
some  moments  made  no  reply.  At  length  he  approached 
the  huge  trunk,  walked  slowly  around  it,  and  examined 
it  with  minute  attention.  When  he  had  completed  his 
scrutiny,  he  merely  said,— 


The  Gold  Bug  37 

"  Yes,  massa,  Jup  climb  any  tree  he  ebber  see  in  he 
life." 

"  Then  up  with  you  as  soon  as  possible,  for  it  will  soon 
be  too  dark  to  see  what  we  are  about." 

"  How  far  mus  go  up,  massa  ?  "  inquired  Jupiter. 

"  Get  up  the  main  trunk  first,  and  then  I  will  tell  you 
which  way  to  go  —  and  here  —  stop  !  take  this  beetle  with 
you." 

"  De  bug,  Massa  Will  1  —  de  goole-bug  !  "  cried  the 
negro,  drawing  back  in  dismay  —  "what  for  mus  tote  de 
bug  way  up  the  tree  ?  —  damn  if  I  do  !  " 

"  If  you  are  afraid,  Jup,  a  great  big  negro  like  you,  to 
take  hold  of  a  harmless  little  dead  beetle,  why  you  can 
carry  it  up  by  this  string  —  but,  if  you  do  not  take  it  up 
with  you  in  some  way,  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of 
breaking  your  head  with  this  shovel." 

"  What  de  matter  now,  massa  ?  "  said  Jup,  evidently 
shamed  into  compliance ;  "  always  want  for  to  raise  fuss 
wid  old  nigger.  Was  only  funnin,  any  how.  Me  feered 
de  bug !  what  I  keer  for  de  bug  ?  "  Here  he  took  cau- 
tiously hold  of  the  extreme  end  of  the  string,  and,  main- 
taining the  insect  as  far  from  his  person  as  circumstances 
would  permit,  prepared  to  ascend  the  tree. 

In  youth,  the  tulip-tree,  or  Liriodendron  Tulipiferum, 
the  most  magnificent  of  American  foresters,  has  a  trunk 
peculiarly  smooth,  and  often  rises  to  a  great  height  with- 
out lateral  branches  ;  but,  in  its  riper  age,  the  bark  be- 
comes gnarled  and  uneven,  while  many  short  limbs  make 
their  appearance  on  the  stem.  Thus  the  difficulty  of  as- 
cension, in  the  present  case,  lay  more  in  semblance  than 
in  reality.  Embracing  the  huge  cylinder  as  closely  as 
possible  with  his  arms  and  knees,  seizing  with  his  hands 
some  projections,  and  resting  his  naked  toes  upon  others, 


38  Edgar  Allan   Foe 

Jupiter,  after  one  or  two  narrow  escapes  from  falling,  at 
length  wriggled  himself  into  the  first  great  fork,  and 
seemed  to  consider  the  whole  business  as  virtually  accom- 
plished. The  risk  of  the  achievement  was,  in  fact,  now 
over,  although  the  climber  was  some  sixty  or  seventy  feet 
from  the  ground. 

"  Which  way  mus  go  now,  Massa  Will  ?  "  he  asked. 

11  Keep  up  the  largest  branch  —  the  one  on  this  side," 
said  Legrand.  The  negro  obeyed  him  promptly,  and 
apparently  with  but  little  trouble,  ascending  higher  and 
higher,  until  no  glimpse  of  his  squat  figure  could  be 
obtained  through  the  dense  foliage  which  enveloped  it. 
Presently  his  voice  was  heard  in  a  sort  of  halloo. 

"  How  much  f udder  is  got  for  go  ?  " 

"  How  high  up  are  you  ?  "  asked  Legrand. 

"  Ebber  so  fur,"  replied  the  negro  ;  "  can  see  de  sky  fru 
de  top  ob  de  tree." 

"  Never  mind  the  sky,  but  attend  to  what  I  say.  Look 
down  the  trunk,  and  count  the  limbs  below  you  on  this 
side.  How  many  limbs  have  you  passed  ?  " 

"  One,  two,  tree,  four,  fibe  —  I  done  pass  fibe  big  limb, 
massa,  pon  dis  side." 

"  Then  go  one  limb  higher." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  voice  was  heard  again,  announcing 
that  the  seventh  limb  was  attained. 

"  Now,  Jup,"  cried  Legrand,  evidently  much  excited, 
"  I  want  you  to  work  your  way  out  upon  that  limb  as  far 
as  you  can.  If  you  see  anything  strange,  let  me 
know." 

By  this  time  what  little  doubt  I  might  have  entertained 
of  my  poor  friend's  insanity  was  put  finally  at  rest.  I  had 
no  alternative  but  to  conclude  him  stricken  with  lunacy, 
and  I  became  seriously  anxious  about  getting  him  home. 


The  Gold  Bug  39 

While  I  was  pondering  upon  what  was  best  to  be  done, 
Jupiter's  voice  was  again  heard. 

"  Mos  feerd  for  to  ventur  pon  dis  limb  berry  far  —  'tis 
dead  limb  putty  much  all  de  way." 

"  Did  you  say  it  was  a  dead  limb,  Jupiter  ?  "  cried 
Legrand  in  a  quivering  voice. 

"  Yes,  massa ;  him  dead  as  de  door-nail;  done  up  for 
sartain  ;  done  departed  dis  here  life." 

"What  in  the  name  of  heaven  shall  I  do?"  asked 
Legrand,  seemingly  in  the  greatest  distress. 

"Do!"  said  I,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  interpose  a 
word,  "  why,  come  home  and  go  to  bed.  Come,  now,  that's 
a  fine  fellow !  It's  getting  late,  and,  besides,  you  remem- 
ber your  promise." 

"  Jupiter,"  cried  he,  without  heeding  me  in  the  least, 
"do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Massa  Will,  hear  you  ebber  so  plain." 

"Try  the  wood  well,  then,  with  your  knife,  and  see  if 
you  think  it  is  very  rotten." 

"  Him  rotten,  massa,  sure  miff,"  replied  the  negro  in  a 
few  moments ;  "  but  not  so  berry  rotten  as  mought  be. 
Mought  ventur  out  leetle  way  pon  de  limb  by  myself,  dat's 
true." 

"  By  yourself  ?  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  mean  de  bug.  Tis  berry  hebby  bug.  Spose 
I  drop  him  down  fuss,  and  den  de  limb  won't  break  wid 
just  de  weight  ob  one  nigger." 

"  You  infernal  scoundrel !  "  cried  Legrand,  apparently 
much  relieved ;  "  what  do  you  mean  by  telling  me  such 
nonsense  as  that?  As  sure  as  you  drop  that  beetle  I'll 
break  your  neck.  Look  here,  Jupiter,  do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  massa ;    needn't  hollo  at  poor  nigger  dat  style." 

"  Well,  now  listen.     If  you  will  venture  out  on  the  limb 


40  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

as  far  as  you  think  safe,  and  not  let  go  the  beetle,  I'll 
make  you  a  present  of  a  silver  dollar  as  soon  as  you  get 
down." 

"  I'm  gwine,  Mass  Will — deed  I  is,"  replied  the  negro, 
very  promptly  —  "  mos  out  to  the  end  now." 

"  Out  to  the  end!"  here  fairly  screamed  Legrand,  "  do 
you  say  you  are  out  to  the  end  of  that  limb  ?  " 

"  Soon  be  to  de  eend,  massa,  — o-o-o-o-oh  !  Lor-gol-a- 
marcy  !  what  is  dis  here  pon  de  tree  ?  " 

"  Well !  "  cried  Legrand,  highly  delighted,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  taint  noffin  but  a  skull — somebody  bin  lef  him 
head  up  de  tree,  and  de  crows  done  gobble  ebery  bit  ob 
de  meat  off." 

"  A  skull,  you  say  !  —  very  well !  —  how  is  it  fastened  to 
the  limb  ?  —  what  holds  it  on  ?  " 

"  Sure  nuff,  massa  ;  mus  look.  Why,  dis  berry  curous 
cumstance,  pon  my  word  —  dare's  a  great  big  nail  in  de 
skull  what  fastens  ob  it  on  to  de  tree." 

"  Well,  now,  Jupiter,  do  exactly  as  I  tell  you  —  do  you 
hear?" 

"  Yes,  massa." 

"  Pay  attention,  then  !  —  find  the  left  eye  of  the  skull." 

"  Hum  !  hoo  1  dat's  good !  why,  dare  aint  no  eye  lef 
at  all." 

"  Curse  your  stupidity !  do  you  know  your  right  hand 
from  your  left  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  nose  dat  —  nose  all  bout  dat  —  'tis  my  lef  hand 
what  I  chops  de  wood  wid." 

"To  be  sure!  you  are  left-handed;  and  your  left  eye  is 
on  the  same  side  as  your  left  hand.  Now,  I  suppose  you 
can  find  the  left  eye  of  the  skull,  or  the  place  where  the 
left  eye  has  been.  Have  you  found  it  ?  " 

Here  was  a  long  pause.     At  length  the  negro  asked,— 


The  Gold  Bug  41 

"  Is  de  lef  eye  ob  de  skull  pon  de  same  side  as  de  lef 
hand  ob  de  skull,  too  ?  —  cause  de  skull  aint  got  not  a  bit 
ob  a  hand  at  all: — nebber  mind  !     I  got  de  lef  eye  now  — 
here  de  lef  eye  !  what  mus  do  with  it  ? " 

"  Let  the  beetle  drop  through  it,  as  far  as  the  string 
will  reach  —  but  be  careful  and  not  let  go  your  hold  of 
the  string." 

"  All  dat  done,  Mass  Will ;  mighty  easy  ting  for  to  put 
de  bug  frue  de  hole  —  look  out  for  him  dare  below  !  " 

During  this  colloquy  no  portion  of  Jupiter's  person 
could  be  seen ;  but  the  beetle,  which  he  had  suffered  to 
descend,  was  now  visible  at  the  end  of  the  string,  and 
glistened,  like  a  globe  of  burnished  gold,  in  the  last  rays 
of  the  setting  sun,  some  of  which  still  faintly  illumined  the 
eminence  upon  which  we  stood.  The  scarabceus  hung 
quite  clear  of  any  branches,  and,  if  allowed  to  fall,  would 
have  fallen  at  our  feet.  Legrand  immediately  took  the 
scythe  and  cleared  with  it  a  circular  space,  three  or  four 
yards  in  diameter,  just  beneath  the  insect,  and,  having 
accomplished  this,  ordered  Jupiter  to  let  go  the  string  and 
come  down  from  the  tree. 

Driving  a  peg,  with  great  nicety,  into  the  ground,  at 
the  precise  spot  where  the  beetle  fell,  my  friend  now  pro- 
duced from  his  pocket  a  tape-measure.  Fastening  one  end 
of  this  at  that  point  of  the  trunk  of  the  tree  which  was 
nearest  the  peg,  he  unrolled  it  till  it  reached  the  peg,  and 
thence  further  unrolled  it,  in  the  direction  already  estab- 
lished by  the  two  points  of  the  tree  and  the  peg,  for  the 
distance  of  fifty  feet  —  Jupiter  clearing  away  the  brambles 
with  the  scythe.  At  the  spot  thus  attained  a  second  peg 
was  driven,  and  about  this,  as  a  centre,  a  rude  circle, 
about  four  feet  in  diameter,  described.  Taking  now  a 
spade  himself,  and  giving  one  to  Jupiter  and  one  to  me, 


42  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

Legrand  begged  us  to  set  about  digging  as  quickly  as 
possible. 

To  speak  the  truth,  I  had  no  special  relish  for  such 
amusement  at  any  time,  and,  at  that  particular  moment, 
would  most  willingly  have  declined  it ;  for  the  night  was 
coming  on,  and  I  felt  much  fatigued  with  the  exercise 
already  taken  ;  but  I  saw  no  mode  of  escape,  and  was 
fearful  of  disturbing  my  poor  friend's  equanimity  by  a 
refusal.  Could  I  have  depended,  indeed,  upon  Jupiter's 
aid,  I  would  have  had  no  hesitation  in  attempting  to  get 
the  lunatic  home  by  force  ;  but  I  was  too  well  assured  of 
the  old  negro's  disposition  to  hope  that  he  would  assist 
me,  under  any  circumstances,  in  a  personal  contest  with 
his  master.  I  made  no  doubt  that  the  latter  had  been  in- 
fected with  some  of  the  innumerable  Southern  superstitions 
about  money  buried,  and  that  his  fantasy  had  received 
confirmation  by  the  finding  of  the  scarabceus,  or,  perhaps, 
by  Jupiter's  obstinacy  in  maintaining  it  to  be  "  a  bug 
of  real  gold."  A  mind  disposed  to  lunacy  would  readily 
be  led  away  by  such  suggestions  —  especially  if  chiming 
in  with  favorite  preconceived  ideas  —  and  then  I  called 
to  mind  the  poor  fellow's  speech  about  the  beetle's 
being  "the  index  of  his  fortune."  Upon  the  whole, 
I  was  sadly  vexed  and  puzzled,  but  at  length,  I  con- 
cluded to  make  a  virtue  of  necessity  —  to  dig  with  a 
good  will,  and  thus  the  sooner  to  convince  the  visionary, 
by  ocular  demonstration,  of  the  fallacy  of  the  opinions  he 
entertained. 

The  lanterns  having  been  lit,  we  all  fell  to  work  with  a 
zeal  worthy  a  more  rational  cause  ;  and,  as  the  glare  fell 
upon  our  persons  and  implements,  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing how  picturesque  a  group  we  composed,  and  how 
strange  and  suspicious  our  labors  must  have  appeared  to 


The  Gold  Bug  43 

any  interloper  who,  by  chance,  might  have  stumbled  upon 
our  whereabouts. 

We  dug  very  steadily  for  two  hours.  Little  was  said ; 
and  our  chief  embarrassment  lay  in  the  yelpings  of  the 
dog,  who  took  exceeding  interest  in  our  proceedings.  He 
at  length  became  so  obstreperous  that  we  grew  fearful  of 
his  giving  alarm  to  some  stragglers  in  the  vicinity ;  or, 
rather,  this  was  the  apprehension  of  Legrand ;  for  myself, 
I  should  have  rejoiced  at  any  interruption  which  might 
have  enabled  me  to  get  the  wanderer  home.  The  noise 
was  at  length  very  effectually  silenced  by  Jupiter,  who, 
getting  out  of  the  hole  with  a  dogged  air  of  deliberation, 
tied  the  brute's  mouth  up  with  one  of  his  suspenders,  and 
then  returned,  with  a  grave  chuckle,  to  his  task. 

When  the  time  mentioned  had  expired,  we  had  reached 
a  depth  of  five  feet,  and  yet  no  signs  of  any  treasure  be- 
came manifest.  A  general  pause  ensued,  and  I  began  to 
hope  that  the  farce  was  at  an  end.  Legrand,  however, 
although  evidently  much  disconcerted,  wiped  his  brow 
thoughtfully  and  recommenced.  W7e  had  excavated  the 
entire  circle  of  four  feet  diameter,  and  now  we  slightly 
enlarged  the  limit,  and  went  to  the  further  depth  of  two 
feet.  Still  nothing  appeared.  The  gold-seeker,  whom  I 
sincerely  pitied,  at  length  clambered  from  the  pit,  with 
the  bitterest  disappointment  imprinted  upon  every  feature, 
and  proceeded,  slowly  and  reluctantly,  to  put  on  his  coat, 
which  he  had  thrown  off  at  the  beginning  of  his  labor. 
In  the  meantime  I  made  no  remark.  Jupiter,  at  a  signal 
from  his  master,  began  to  gather  up  his  tools.  This  done, 
and  the  dog  having  been  unmuzzled,  we  turned  in  pro- 
found silence  toward  home. 

We  had  taken,  perhaps,  a  dozen  steps  in  this  direction, 
when,  with  a  loud  oath,  Legrand  strode  up  to  Jupiter,  and 


44  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

seized  him  by  the  collar.  The  astonished  negro  opened 
his  eyes  and  mouth  to  the  fullest  extent,  let  fall  the  spades, 
and  fell  upon  his  knees. 

"  You  scoundrel,"  said  Legrand,  hissing  out  the  sylla- 
bles from  between  his  clinched  teeth  — "  you  infernal 
black  villain!  —  speak,  I  tell  you!  —  answer  me  this 
instant,  without  prevarication!  —  which — which  is  your 
left  eye  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  golly,  Massa  Will !  aint  dis  here  my  lef  eye  for 
sartin  ?  "  roared  the  terrified  Jupiter,  placing  his  hand 
upon  his  right  organ  of  vision,  and  holding  it  there  with  a 
desperate  pertinacity,  as  if  in  immediate  dread  of  his 
master's  attempt  at  a  gouge. 

"I  thought  so!  —  I  knew  it!  hurrah!"  vociferated 
Legrand,  letting  the  negro  go  and  executing  a  series  of 
curvets  and  caracoles,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  his 
valet,  who',  arising  from  his  knees,  looked  mutely  from  his 
master  to  myself,  and  then  from  myself  to  his  master. 

"  Come  !  we  must  go  back,"  said  the  latter,  "  the  game's 
not  up  yet ;  "  and  he  again  led  the  way  to  the  tulip-tree. 

"  Jupiter,"  said  he,  when  we  reached  its  foot,  "come 
here  ;  was  the  skull  nailed  to  the  limb  with  the  face  out- 
ward, or  with  the  face  to  the  limb  ?  " 

"  De  face  was  out,  massa,  so  dat  de  crows  could  get  at 
de  eyes  good,  widout  any  trouble." 

"  Well,  then,  was  it  this  eye  or  that  through  which  you 
dropped  the  beetle?"  —here  Legrand  touched  each  of 
Jupiter's  eyes. 

"  'Twas  dis  eye,  massa  —  de  lef  eye  —  jis  as  you  tell 
me,"  and  here  it  was  his  right  eye  that  the  negro  indicated. 

"  That  will  do — we  must  try  it  again." 

Here  my  friend,  about  whose  madness  I  now  saw,  or 
fancied  that  I  saw,  certain  indications  of  method,  removed 


The  Gold  Bug  45 

the  peg  which  marked  the  spot  where  the  beetle  fell,  to  a 
;  spot  about  three  inches  to  the  westward  of  its  former  posi- 
tion.     Taking,  now,  the  tape-measure  from    the   nearest 
point  of  the  trunk  to  the  peg,  as  before,  and  continuing 
:  the  extension  in  a  straight  line  to  the  distance  of  fifty  feet, 
I  a  spot  was  indicated,  removed,  by  several  yards,  from  the 
point  at  which  we  had  been  digging. 

Around  the  new  position  a  circle,  somewhat  larger  than 
!  in  the  former  instance,  was  now  described,  and  we  again 
set  to  work  with  the  spades.  I  was  dreadfully  weary,  but 
scarcely  understanding  what  had  occasioned  the  change  in 
my  thoughts,  I  felt  no  longer  any  great  aversion  from  the 
labor  imposed.  I  had  become  most  unaccountably  inter- 
ested—  nay,  even  excited.  Perhaps  there  was  something, 
amid  all  the  extravagant  demeanor  of  Legrand,  some  air 
of  forethought,  or  of  deliberation,  which  impressed  me.  I 
dug  eagerly,  and  now  and  then  caught  myself  actually 
looking,  with  something  that  very  much  resembled  expec- 
tation, for  the  fancied  treasure,  the  vision  of  which  had 
demented  my  unfortunate  companion.  At  a  period  when 
such  vagaries  of  thought  most  fully  possessed  me,  and 
when  we  had  been  at  work  perhaps  an  hour  and  a  half,  we 
were  again  interrupted  by  the  violent  howlings  of  the  dog. 
His  uneasiness,  in  the  first  instance,  had  been,  evidently, 
but  the  result  of  playfulness  or  caprice,  but  he  now  as- 
sumed a  bitter  and  serious  tone.  Upon  Jupiter's  again 
attempting  to  muzzle  him,  he  made  furious  resistance,  and 
leaping  into  the  hole,  tore  up  the  mould  frantically  with 
his  claws.  In  a  few  seconds  he  had  uncovered  a  mass  of 
human  bones,  forming  two  complete  skeletons,  intermingled 
with  several  buttons  of  metal,  and  what  appeared  to  be  the 
dust  of  decayed  woollen.  One  or  two  strokes  of  a  spade 
upturned  the  blade  of  a  large  Spanish  knife,  and,  as  we 


46  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

dug  further,  three  or  four  loose  pieces  of  gold  and  silver 
coin  came  to  light. 

At  sight  of  these  the  joy  of  Jupiter  could  scarcely  be 
restrained ;  but  the  countenance  of  his  master  wore  an  air 
of  extreme  disappointment.  He  urged  us,  however,  to 
continue  our  exertions  ;  and  the  words  were  hardly  uttered 
when  I  stumbled  and  fell  forward,  having  caught  the  toe 
of  my  boot  in  a  large  ring  of  iron  that  lay  half  buried  in 
the  loose  earth. 

We  now  worked  in  earnest ;  and  never  did  I  pass  ten 
minutes  of  more  intense  excitement.  During  this  interval 
we  had  fairly  unearthed  an  oblong  chest  of  wood,  which, 
from  its  perfect  preservation  and  wonderful  hardness,  had 
plainly  been  subjected  to  some  mineralizing  process  — 
perhaps  that  of  the  bichloride  of  mercury.  This  box  was 
three  feet  and  a  half  long,  three  feet  broad,  and  two  and  a 
half  feet  deep.  It  was  firmly  secured  by  bands  of  wrought 
iron,  riveted,  and  forming  a  kind  of  open  trelliswork  over 
the  whole.  On  each  side  of  the  chest,  near  the  top,  were 
three  rings  of  iron  —  six  in  all  —  by  means  of  which  a  firm 
hold  could  be  obtained  by  six  persons.  Our  utmost  united 
endeavors  served  only  to  disturb  the  coffer  very  slightly  in 
its  bed.  We  at  once  saw  the  impossibility  of  removing  so 
great  a  weight.  Luckily,  the  sole  fastenings  of  the  lid 
consisted  of  two  sliding  bolts.  These  we  drew  back, 
trembling  and  panting  with  anxiety.  In  an  instant  a 
treasure  of  incalculable  value  lay  gleaming  before  us.  As 
the  rays  of  the  lanterns  fell  within  the  pit,  there  flashed 
upward  a  glow  and  a  glare,  from  a  confused  heap  of  gold 
and  of  jewels,  that  absolutely  dazzled  our  eyes. 

I  shall  not  pretend  to  describe  the  feelings  with  which 
I  gazed.  Amazement  was,  of  course,  predominant.  Le- 
grand  appeared  exhausted  with  excitement,  and  spoke 


The  Gold  Bug  47 

very  few  words.  Jupiter's  countenance  wore,  for  some 
minutes,  as  deadly  a  pallor  as  it  is  possible,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  for  any  negro's  visage  to  assume.  He  seemed 
stupefied,  thunderstricken.  Presently  he  fell  upon  his 
knees  in  the  pit,  and,  burying  his  naked  arms  up  to  the 
elbows  in  gold,  let  them  there  remain,  as  if  enjoying  the 
luxury  of  a  bath.  At  length,  with  a  deep  sigh,  he  ex- 
claimed, as  if  in  a  soliloquy :  — 

"  And  dis  all  cum  ob  de  goole-bug  !  de  putty  goole-bug  ! 
de  poor  little  goole-bug,  what  I  boosed  in  dat  sabage  kind 
ob  style!  Ain't  you  ashamed  ob  yourself,  nigger?  An- 
swer me  dat !  " 

It  became  necessary  at  last  that  I  should  arouse  both 
master  and  valet  to  the  expediency  of  removing  the  treas- 
ure. It  was  growing  late,  and  it  behooved  us  to  make 
exertion,  that  we  might  get  everything  housed  before  day- 
light. It  was  difficult  to  say  what  should  be  done,  and 
much  time  was  spent  in  deliberation,  so  confused  were 
the  ideas  of  all.  We  finally  lightened  the  box  by  remov- 
ing two-thirds  of  its  contents,  when  we  were  enabled,  with 
some  trouble,  to  raise  it  from  the  hole.  The  articles 
taken  out  were  deposited  among  the  brambles,  and  the 
dog  left  to  guard  them,  with  strict  orders  from  Jupiter, 
neither,  upon  any  pretence,  to  stir  from  the  spot,  nor  to 
open  his  mouth  until  our  return.  We  then  hurriedly 
made  for  home  with  the  chest,  reaching  the  hut  in  safety, 
but  after  excessive  toil,  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Worn  out  as  we  were,  it  was  not  in  human  nature  to 
do  more  immediately.  We  rested  until  two,  and  had 
supper,  starting  for  the  hills  immediately  afterward, 
armed  with  three  stout  sacks,  which,  by  good  luck,  were 
upon  the  premises.  A  little  before  four  we  arrived  at  the 
pit,  divided  the  remainder  of  the  booty  as  equally  as 


48  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

might  be  among  us ;  and,  leaving  the  holes  unfilled,  again 
set  out  for  the  hut,  at  which,  for  the  second  time,  we  de- 
posited our  golden  burthens,  just  as  the  first  faint  streaks 
of  the  dawn  gleamed  from  over  the  tree-tops  in  the  east. 

We  were  now  thoroughly  broken  down  ;  but  the  intense 
excitement  of  the  time  denied  us  repose.  After  an  un- 
quiet slumber  of  some  three  or  four  hours'  duration,  we 
arose,  as  if  by  preconcert,  to  make  examination  of  our 
treasure. 

The  chest  had  been  full  to  the  brim,  and  we  spent  the 
whole  day,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  next  night,  in  scru- 
tiny of  its  contents.  There  had  been  nothing  like  order 
or  arrangement.  Everything  had  been  heaped  in  promis- 
cuously. Having  assorted  all  with  care,  we  found  our- 
selves possessed  of  even  vaster  wealth  than  we  had  at 
first  supposed.  In  coin  there  was  rather  more  than  four 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  estimating  the  value 
of  the  pieces  as  accurately  as  we  could  by  the  tables  of 
the  period.  There  was  not  a  particle  of  silver.  All  was 
gold  of  antique  date  and  of  great  variety,  —  French, 
Spanish,  and  German  money,  with  a  few  English  guineas, 
and  some  counters,  of  which  we  had  never  seen  speci- 
mens before.  There  were  several  very  large  and  heavy 
coins,  so  worn  that  we  could  make  nothing  of  their  in- 
scriptions. There  was  no  American  money. 

The  value  of  the  jewels  we  found  more  difficulty  in 
estimating.  There  were  diamonds,  some  of  them  exceed- 
ingly large  and  fine  —  a  hundred  and  ten  in  all,  and  not 
one  of  them  small ;  eighteen  rubies  of  remarkable  bril- 
liancy ;  three  hundred  and  ten  emeralds,  all  very  beauti- 
ful ;  and  twenty-one  sapphires,  with  an  opal.  These 
stones  had  all  been  broken  from  their  settings,  and 
thrown  loose  in  the  chest.  The  settings  themselves, 


The  Gold  Bug  49 

which  we  picked  out  from  among  the  other  gold,  appeared 
to  have  been  beaten  up  with  hammers,  as  if  to  prevent 
identification.  Besides  all  this,  there  was  a  vast  quantity 
of  solid  gold  ornaments ;  nearly  two  hundred  massive 
finger  and  ear  rings  ;  rich  chains  —  thirty  of  these,  if  I 
remember ;  eighty-three  very  large  and  heavy  crucifixes ; 
five  gold  censers  of  great  value ;  a  prodigious  golden 
punch-bowl,  ornamented  with  richly  chased  vine-leaves 
and  bacchanalian  figures ;  with  two  sword-handles  ex- 
quisitely embossed,  and  many  other  smaller  articles  which 
I  cannot  recollect. 

The  weight  of  these  valuables  exceeded  three  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  avoirdupois ;  and  in  this  estimate  I  have 
not  included  one  hundred  and  ninety-seven  superb  gold 
watches,  three  of  the  number  being  worth  each  five  hun- 
dred dollars,  if  one.  Many  of  them  were  very  old,  and 
as  timekeepers  valueless,  the  works  having  suffered  more 
or  less  from  corrosion  ;  but  all  were  richly  jewelled,  and 
in  cases  of  great  worth.  We  estimated  the  entire  con- 
tents of  the  chest  that  night  at  a  million  and  a  half  of 
dollars ;  and  upon  the  subsequent  disposal  of  the  trinkets 
and  jewels  (a  few  being  retained  for  our  own  use),  it  was 
found  that  we  had  greatly  undervalued  the  treasure. 

When  at  length  we  had  concluded  our  examination, 
and  the  intense  excitement  of  the  time  had,  in  some 
measure,  subsided,  Legrand,  who  saw  that  I  was  dying 
with  impatience  for  a  solution  of  this  most  extraordinary 
riddle,  entered  into  a  full  detail  of  all  the  circumstances 
connected  with  it. 

"  You  remember,"  said  he,  "  the  night  when  I  handed 
you  the  rough  sketch  I  had  made  of  the  scarabceus.  You 
recollect,  also,  that  I  became  quite  vexed  at  you  for  in- 
sisting that  my  drawing  resembled  a  death's-head.  When 


50  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

you  first  made  this  assertion,  I  thought  you  were  jesting; 
but  afterward  I  called  to  mind  the  peculiar- spots  on  the 
back  of  the  insect,  and  admitted  to  myself  that  your  re- 
mark had  some  little  foundation  in  fact.  Still  the  sneer 
at  my  graphic  powers  irritated  me  —  for  I  am  considered 
a  good  artist ;  and  therefore,  when  you  handed  me  the 
scrap  of  parchment,  I  was  about  to  crumple  it  up  and 
throw  it  angrily  into  the  fire." 

"  The  scrap  of  paper,  you  mean,"  said  I. 

"  No ;  it  had  much  the  appearance  of  paper,  and  at 
first  I  supposed  it  to  be  such ;  but  when  I  came  to  draw 
upon  it,  I  discovered  it  at  once  to  be  a  piece  of  very  thin 
parchment.  It  was  quite  dirty,  you  remember.  Well,  as 
I  was  in  the  very  act  of  crumpling  it  up,  my  glance  fell 
upon  the  sketch  at  which  you  had  been  looking ;  and  you 
may  imagine  my  astonishment  when  I  perceived,  in  fact, 
the  figure  of  a  death's-head  just  where,  it  seemed  to  me, 
I  had  made  the  drawing  of  the  beetle.  For  a  moment  I 
was  too  much  amazed  to  think  with  accuracy.  I  knew 
that  my  design  was  very  different  in  detail  from  this, 
although  there  was  a  certain  similarity  in  general  outline. 
Presently  I  took  a  candle,  and,  seating  myself  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  proceeded  to  scrutinize  the  parchment 
more  closely.  Upon  turning  it  over,  I  saw  my  own 
sketch  upon  the  reverse,  just  as  I  had  made  it.  My  first 
idea  now  was  mere  surprise  at  the  really  remarkable  simi- 
larity of  outline  —  at  the  singular  coincidence  involved  in 
the  fact  that,  unknown  to  me,  there  should  have  been  a 
skull  upon  the  other  side  of  the  parchment,  immediately 
beneath  my  figure  of  the  scarabaus,  and  that  this  skull, 
not  only  in  outline,  but  in  size,  should  so  closely  resemble 
my  drawing.  I  say  the  singularity  of  this  coincidence 
absolutely  stupefied  me  for  a  time. 


The   Gold  Bug  51 

"  This  is  the  usual  effect  of  such  coincidences.     The 
mind  struggles  to  establish   a  connection,  a  sequence  of 
cause  and  effect;    and,  being  unable  to  do  so,  suffers  a 
species   of   temporary  paralysis.     But  when  I    recovered 
from  this  stupor,  there  dawned  upon  me  gradually  a  con- 
viction which  startled  me  even  far  more  than  the  coinci- 
dence.    I  began   distinctly,  positively,  to  remember  that 
there  had  been  no  drawing  upon  the  parchment  when  I 
imade  my  sketch  of   the  scarabceus.     I   became   perfectly 
\ certain  of  this;  for  I  recollected  turning  up  first  one  side 
and  then  the  other,  in  search  of  the  cleanest  spot.     Had 
the   skull   been   then   there,  of   course  I  could  not  have 
\  failed  to  notice  it.     Here  was  indeed  a  mystery  which  I 
felt  it  impossible  to  explain ;  but,  even  at  that  early  mo- 
ment, there  seemed  to  glimmer   faintly  within  the   most 
remote  and  secret  chambers  of  my  intellect  a  glowworm- 
like  conception  of  that  truth  which  last  night's  adventure 
I  brought  to  so    magnificent  a   demonstration.     I  arose  at 
once,    and,    putting   the    parchment    securely   away,    dis- 
|  missed  all  further  reflection  until  I  should  be  alone. 

"  When  you  had  gone,  and  when  Jupiter  was  fast 
I  asleep,  I  betook  myself  to  a  more  methodical  investiga- 
tion of  the  affair.  In  the  first  place  I  considered  the 
manner  in  which  the  parchment  had  come  into  my  posses- 
sion. The  spot  where  we  discovered  the  scarabaus  was  on 
!  the  coast  of  the  main  land,  about  a  mile  eastward  of  the 
island,  and  but  a  short  distance  above  high-water  mark. 
Upon  my  taking  hold  of  it,  it  gave  me  a  sharp  bite, 
which  caused  me  to  let  it  drop.  Jupiter,  with  his  accus- 
tomed caution,  before  seizing  the  insect,  which  had  flown 
towards  him,  looked  about  him  for  a  leaf,  or  something 
of  that  nature,  by  which  to  take  hold  of  it.  It  was  at 
this  moment  that  his  eyes,  and  mine  also,  fell  upon  the 


52  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

scrap  of  parchment,  which  I  then  supposed  to  be  paper. 
It  was  lying  half  buried  in  the  sand,  a  corner  sticking  up. 
Near  the  spot  where  we  found  it,  I  observed  the  remnant 
of  the  hull  of  what  appeared  to  have  been  a  ship's  long 
boat.  The  wreck  seemed  to  have  been  there  for  a  very 
great  while ;  for  the  resemblance  to  boat  timbers  could 
scarcely  be  traced. 

"  Well,  Jupiter  picked  up  the  parchment,  wrapped  the 
beetle  in  it,  and  gave  it  to  me.  Soon  afterwards  we 

turned  to  go  home,  and  on  the  way  met  Lieutenant  G . 

I  showed  him  the  insect,  and  he  begged  me  to  let  him 
take  it  to  the  fort.  Upon  my  consenting,  he  thrust  it 
forthwith  into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  without  the  parchment 
in  which  it  had  been  wrapped,  and  which  I  had  continued 
to  hold  in  my  hand  during  his  inspection.  Perhaps  he 
dreaded  my  changing  my  mind,  and  thought  it  best  to 
make  sure  of  the  prize  at  once  —  you  know  how  enthusi- 
astic he  is  on  all  subjects  connected  with  Natural  History. 
At  the  same  time,  without  being  conscious  of  it,  I  must 
have  deposited  the  parchment  in  my  own  pocket. 

"  You  remember  that  when  I  went  to  the  table,  for  the 
purpose  of  making  a  sketch  of  the  beetle,  I  found  no  paper 
where  it  was  usually  kept.  I  looked  in  the  drawer  and 
found  none  there.  I  searched  my  pockets,  hoping  to  find 
an  old  letter,  when  my  hand  fell  upon  the  parchment.  I 
thus  detail  the  precise  mode  in  which  it  came  into  my 
possession ;  for  the  circumstances  impressed  me  with 
peculiar  force. 

"No  doubt  you  will  think  me  fanciful  —  but  I  had  al- 
ready established  a  kind  of  connection.  I  had  put  together 
two  links  of  a  great  chain.  There  was  a  boat  lying  upon 
a  sea-coast,  and  not  far  from  the  boat  was  a  parchment  — 
not  a  paper  —  with  a  skull  depicted  upon  it.  You  will,  of 


The  Gold  Bug  53 

course,  ask,  '  where  is  the  connection  ? '  I  reply  that  the 
skull,  or  death's-head,  is  the  well-known  emblem  of  the 
pirate.  The  flag  of  the  death's-head  is  hoisted  in  all  en- 
gagements. 

"  I  have  said  that  the  scrap  was  parchment,  and  not 
paper.  Parchment  is  durable  —  almost  imperishable. 
Matters  of  little  moment  are  rarely  consigned  to  parch- 
ment ;  since  for  the  mere  ordinary  purposes  of  drawing  or 
writing  it  is  not  nearly  so  well  adapted  as  paper.  This 
reflection  suggested  some  meaning — some  relevancy  —  in 
the  death's-head.  I  did  not  fail  to  observe,  also,  the  form 
of  the  parchment.  Although  one  of  its  corners  had  been, 
by  some  accident,  destroyed,  it  could  be  seen  that  the 
original  form  was  oblong.  It  was  just  a  slip,  indeed,  as 
might  have  been  chosen  for  a  memorandum — for  a  record  of 
something  to  be  long  remembered  and  carefully  preserved." 

"But,"  I  interposed,  "  you  say  that  the  skull  was  not 
upon  the  parchment  when  you  made  the  drawing  of  the 
beetle.  How  then  do  you  trace  any  connection  between 
the  boat  and  the  skull  —  since  this  latter,  according  to 
your  own  admission,  must  have  been  designed  (God  only 
knows  how  or  by  whom)  at  some  period  subsequent  to  your 
sketching  the  scarabaus  ?  " 

"  Ah,  hereupon  turns  the  whole  mystery ;  although  the 
secret,  at  this  point,  I  had  comparatively  little  difficulty  in 
solving.  My  steps  were  sure,  and  could  afford  but  a 
single  result.  I  reasoned,  for  example,  thus :  When  I 
drew  the  scaraboeus,  there  was  no  skull  apparent  upon  the 
parchment.  When  I  had  completed  the  drawing  I  gave  it 
to  you  and  observed  you  narrowly  until  you  returned  it. 
You,  therefore,  did  not  design  the  skull,  and  no  one  else 
was  present  to  do  it.  Then  it  was  not  done  by  human 
agency.  ,  And  nevertheless  it  was  done. 


54  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

"  At  this  stage  of  my  reflections  I  endeavored  to  remem- 
ber, and  did  remember,  with  entire  distinctness,  every 
incident  which  occurred  about  the  period  in  question. 
The  weather  was  chilly  (oh,  rare  and  happy  accident  1), 
and  a  fire  was  blazing  upon  the  hearth.  I  was  heated 
with  exercise  and  sat  near  the  table.  You,  however,  had 
drawn  a  chair  close  to  the  chimney.  Just  as  I  placed  the 
parchment  in  your  hand,  and  you  were  in  the  act  of  in- 
specting it,  Wolf,  the  Newfoundland,  entered,  and  leaped 
upon  your  shoulders.  With  your  left  hand  you  caressed 
him  and  kept  him  off,  while  your  right,  holding  the  parch- 
ment, was  permitted  to  fall  listlessly  between  your  knees, 
and  in  close  proximity  to  the  fire.  At  one  moment  I 
thought  the  blaze  had  caught  it,  and  was  about  to  caution 
you,  but,  before  I  could  speak,  you  had  withdrawn  it,  and 
were  engaged  in  its  examination.  When  I  considered  all 
these  particulars,  I  doubted  not  for  a  moment  that  heat 
had  been  the  agent  in  bringing  to  light,  upon  the  parch- 
ment, the  skull  which  I  saw  designed  upon  it.  You  are 
well  aware  that  chemical  preparations  exist,  and  have  ex- 
isted time  out  of  mind,  by  means  of  which  it  is  possible  to 
write  upon  either  paper  or  vellum,  so  that  the  characters 
shall  become  visible  only  when  subjected  to  the  action  of 
fire.  Zaffre,  digested  in  aqua  regia,  and  diluted  with  four 
times  its  weight  of  water,  is  sometimes  employed  ;  a  green 
tint  results.  The  regulus  of  cobalt,  dissolved  in  spirit  of 
nitre,  gives  a  red.  These  colors  disappear  at  longer  or 
shorter  intervals  after  the  material. written  upon  cools,  but 
again  become  apparent  upon  the  reapplication  of  heat. 

"  I  now  scrutinized  the  death's-head  with  care.  Its 
outer  edges  —  the  edges  of  the  drawing  nearest  the  edge 
of  the  vellum  —  were  far  more  distinct  than  the  others.  It 
was  clear  that  the  action  of  the  caloric  had  been  imperfect 


The  Gold  Bug  55 

or  unequal.  I  immediately  kindled  a  fire,  and  subjected 
every  portion  of  the  parchment  to  a  glowing  heat.  At 
first,  the  only  effect  was  the  strengthening  of  the  faint  lines 
in  the  skull ;  but,  upon  persevering  in  the  experiment,  there 
became  visible,  at  the  corner  of  the  slip,  diagonally  oppo- 
site to  the  spot  in  which  the  death's-head  was  delineated, 
the  figure  of  what  I  at  first  supposed  to  be  a  goat.  A 
closer  scrutiny,  however,  satisfied  me  that  it  was  intended 
for  a  kid." 

"  Ha !  ha  !  "  said  I,  "  to  be  sure  I  have  no  right  to  laugh 
at  you  —  a  million  and  a  half  of  money  is  too  serious  a 
matter  for  mirth  —  but  you  are  not  about  to  establish  a 
third  link  in  your  chain  —  you  will  not  find  any  special 
connection  between  your  pirates  and  a  goat  —  pirates,  you 
know,  have  nothing  to  do  with  goats ;  they  appertain  to 
the  farming  interest." 

"But  I  have  just  said  that  the  figure  was  not  that  of  a 
goat." 

"  Well,  a  kid  then  —  pretty  much  the  same  thing." 

"  Pretty  much,  but  not  .altogether,"  said  Legrand. 
"  You  may  have  heard  of  one  Captain  Kidd.  I  at  once 
looked  upon  the  figure  of  the  animal  as  a  kind  of  punning 
or  hieroglyphical  signature.  I  say  signature,  because  its 
position  on  the  vellum  suggested  this  idea.  The  death's- 
head  at  the  corner  diagonally  opposite,  had,  in  the  same 
manner,  the  air  of  a  stamp,  or  seal.  But  I  was  sorely  put 
out  by  the  absence  of  all  else  —  of  the  body  to  my 
imagined  instrument  —  of  the  text  for  my  context." 

"  I  presume  you  expected  to  find  a  letter  between  the 
stamp  and  the  signature." 

"  Something  of  that  kind.  The  fact  is,  I  felt  irresisti- 
bly impressed  with  a  presentiment  of  some  vast  good  for- 
tune impending.  I  can  scarcely  say  why.  Perhaps,  after 


56  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

all,  it  was  rather  a  desire  than  an  actual  belief;  but  do 
you  know  that  Jupiter's  silly  words,  about  the  bug  being 
of  solid  gold,  had  a  remarkable  effect  upon  my  fancy  ? 
And  then  the  series  of  accidents  and  coincidences  —  these 
were  so  very  extraordinary.  Do  you  observe  how  mere  an 
accident  it  was  that  these  events  should  have  occurred 
upon  the  sole  day  of  all  the  year  in  which  it  has  been,  or 
may  be,  sufficiently  cool  for  fire,  and  that  without  the  fire, 
or  without  the  intervention  of  the  dog  at  the  precise 
moment  in  which  he  appeared,  I  should  never  have  be- 
come aware  of  the  death's-head,  and  so  never  the  possessor 
of  the  treasure  ?  " 

"  But  proceed,  I  am  all  impatience." 

"Well,  you  have  heard,  of  course,  the  many  stones  cur- 
rent, the  thousand  vague  rumors  afloat,  about  money  buried, 
somewhere  upon  the  Atlantic  coast,  by  Kidd  and  his  asso- 
ciates. These  rumors  must  have  some  foundation  in  fact. 
And  that  the  rumors  have  existed  so  long  and  so  continu- 
ous, could  have  resulted,  it  appeared  to  me,  only  from  the 
circumstance  of  the  buried  treasure  still  remaining  en- 
tombed. Had  Kidd  concealed  his  plunder  for  a  time, 
and  afterward  reclaimed  it,  the  rumors  would  scarcely 
have  reached  us  in  their  present  unvarying  form.  You 
will  observe  that  the  stories  told  are  all  about  money- 
seekers,  not  about  money-finders.  Had  the  pirate  recov- 
ered his  money,  there  the  affair  would  have  dropped.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  some  accident — say  the  loss  of  a  mem- 
orandum indicating  its  locality  —  had  deprived  him  of  the 
means  of  recovering  it,  and  that  this  accident  had  become 
known  to  his  followers,  who  otherwise  might  never  have 
heard  that  treasure  had  been  concealed  at  all,  and  who, 
busying  themselves  in  vain,  because  unguided,  attempts  to 
regain  it5  had  given  first  birth,  and  then  universal  currency, 


The  Gold  Bug  57 

to  the  reports  which  are  now  so  common.  Have  you  ever 
heard  of  any  important  treasure  being  unearthed  along 
the  coast?  " 

"Never." 

11  But  that  Kidd's  accumulations  were  immense,  is  well 
known.  I  took  it  for  granted,  therefore,  that  the  earth 
still  held  them  ;  and  you  will  scarcely  be  surprised  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  felt  a  hope,  nearly  amounting  to  cer- 
tainty, that  the  parchment  so  strangely  found,  involved 
a  lost  record  of  the  place  of  deposit." 

"  But  how  did  you  proceed  ?  " 

"  I  held  the  vellum  again  to  the  fire,  after  increasing  the 
heat,  but  nothing  appeared.  I  now  thought  it  possible 
that  the  coating  of  dirt  might  have  something  to  do  with 
the  failure  ;  so  I  carefully  rinsed  the  parchment  by  pouring 
warm  water  over  it,  and  having  done  this,  I  placed  it  in  a 
tin  pan,  with  the  skull  downward,  and  put  the  pan  upon  a 
furnace  of  lighted  charcoal.  In  a  few  minutes,  the  pan 
having  become  thoroughly  heated,  I  removed  the  slip,  and 
to  my  inexpressible  joy,  found  it  spotted  in  several  places, 
with  what  appeared  to  be  figures  arranged  in  lines.  Again 
I  placed  it  in  the  pan,  and  suffered  it  to  remain  another 
minute.  Upon  taking  it  off,  the  whole  was  just  as  you  see 
it  now." 

Here  Legrand,  having  re-heated  the  parchment,  sub- 
mitted it  to  my  inspection.  The  following  characters 
were  rudely  traced,  in  a  red  tint,  between  the  death's-head 
and  the  goat  :  — 


8  f  83(88)  5  *  f  ;46(  ;88  *  96  *  ?  ;8)*  J(  5485)  ?5  *  1  2  :*  t(  ; 
*  2(5*  —  4)8  1  8  *  54069285)  ;)6  f  8)  4  J  ±  ;i(t9  ;48o8i  ;8  :8  }  I  548 
18554)485  f  528806*  8i(t9;48  ;(88;4(t  ?  34548)  4$  ;i6i  ;  :  188  ; 

t?; 


58  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

"  But,"  said  I,  returning  him  the  slip,  "  I  am  as  much 
in  the  dark  as  ever.  Were  all  the  jewels  of  Golconda 
awaiting  me  upon  my  solution  of  this  enigma,  I  am  quite 
sure  that  I  should  be  unable  to  earn  them." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Legrand,  "  the  solution  is  by  no  means 
so  difficult  as  you  might  be  led  to  imagine  from  the  first 
hasty  inspection  of  the  characters.  These  characters,  as 
any  one  might  readily  guess,  form  a  cipher  —  that  is  to 
say,  they  convey  a  meaning ;  but  then,  from  what  is 
known  of  Kidd,  I  could  not  suppose  him  capable  of  con- 
structing any  of  the  more  abstruse  cryptographs.  I  made 
up  my  mind  at  once  that  this  was  of  a  simple  species  — 
such,  however,  as  would  appear  to  the  crude  intellect  of 
the  sailor  absolutely  insoluble  without  the  key." 

"  And  you  really  solved  it  ?  " 

"  Readily ;  I  have  solved  others  of  an  abstruseness  ten 
thousand  times  greater.  Circumstances,  and  a  certain 
bias  of  mind,  have  led  me  to  take  interest  in  such  riddles, 
and  it  may  well  be  doubted  whether  human  ingenuity  can 
construct  an  enigma  of  the  kind  which  human  ingenuity 
may  not,  by  proper  application,  resolve.  In  fact,  having 
once  established  connected  and  legible  characters,  I 
scarcely  gave  a  thought  to  the  mere  difficulty  of  develop- 
ing their  import. 

"In  the  present  case  —  indeed  in  all  cases  of  secret 
writing  —  the  question  regards  the  language  of  the  cipher; 
for  the  principles  of  solution,  so  far  especially  as  the 
more  simple  ciphers  are  concerned,  depend  upon,  and  are 
varied  by,  the  genius  of  the  particular  idiom.  In  general, 
there  is  no  alternative  but  experiment  (directed  by  prob- 
abilities) of  every  tongue  known  to  him  who  attempts 
the  solution,  until  the  true  one  be  attained.  But,  with  the 
cipher  now  before  us,  all  difficulty  was  removed  by  the 


The  Gold   Bug  59 

signature.  The  pun  upon  the  word  '  Kidd  '  is  appreci- 
able in  no  other  language  than  the  English.  But  for  this 
consideration  I  should  have  begun  my  attempts  with  the 
Spanish  and  French,  as  the  tongues  in  which  a  secret  of 
this  kind  would  most  naturally  have  been  written  by  a 
pirate  of  the  Spanish  main.  As  it  \vas,  I  assumed  the 
cryptograph  to  be  English. 

"  You  observe  there  are  no  divisions  between  the 
words.  Had  there  been  divisions,  the  task  would  have 
been  comparatively  easy.  In  such  cases  I  should  have 
commenced  with  a  collation  and  analysis  of  the  shorter 
words,  and,  had  a  word  of  a  single  letter  occurred,  as  it 
is  most  likely  (a  or  /,  for  example),  I  should  have  con- 
sidered the  solution  as  assured.  But,  there  being  no 
division,  my  first  step  was  to  ascertain  the  predominant 
letters,  as  well  as  the  least  frequent.  Counting  all,  I  con- 
structed a  table  thus  :  — 

Of  the  character  8  there  are  33 
;       «  26 

4  "  19 
t)       "  16 

*       "  13 

5  «          12 

6  «          ii 
(       "          10 

ft*  8 

o       "  6 

92      «  5 

:3       "  4 

?       «  3 

IF     "          2 

]  —    «       I 

"  Now,  in  English,  the  letter  which  most  frequently 
occurs  is  e.  Afterward,  the  succession  runs  thus  :  aoidh 


60  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

nrstuycfglmwbkpqxz.  E  predominates  so  re- 
markably that  an  individual  sentence  of  any  length  is 
rarely  seen  in  which  it  is  not  the  prevailing  character. 

"  Here,  then,  we  have,  in  the  very  beginning,  the 
groundwork  for  something  more  than  a  mere  guess.  The 
general  use  which  may  be  made  of  the  table  is  obvious, 
but,  in  this  particular  cipher,  we  shall  only  very  partially 
require  its  aid.  As  our  predominant  character  is  8,  we 
will  commence  by  assuming  it  as  the  e  of  the  natural 
alphabet.  To  verify  the  supposition,  let  us  observe  if  the 
8  be  seen  often  in  couples  —  for  e  is  doubled  with  great 
frequency  in  English  —  in  such  words,  for  example,  as 
*  meet,  '*'  fleet,'  'speed,'  'seen,'  'been,'  'agree,'  etc.  In 
the  present  instance  we  see  it  doubled  no  less  than  five 
times,  although  the  cryptograph  is  brief. 

"Let  us  assume  8,  then,  as  e.  Now,  of  all  the  words 
in  the  language,  '  the  '  is  most  usual ;  let  us  see,  therefore, 
whether  there  are  not  repetitions  of  any  three  characters, 
in  the  same  order  of  collocation,  the  last  of  them  being 
8.  If  we  discover  repetitions  of  such  letters,  so  arranged, 
they  will  most  probably  represent  the  word  'the.'  Upon 
inspection,  we  find  no  less  than  seven  such  arrangements, 
the  characters  being  548.  We  may,  therefore,  assume 
that  ;  represents  /,  4  represents  h,  and  8  represents  e  — 
the  last  being  now  well  confirmed.  Thus  a  great  step 
has  been  taken. 

"  But,  having  established  a  single  word,  we  are  enabled 
to  establish  a  vastly  important  point ;  that  is  to  say,  sev- 
eral commencements  and  terminations  of  other  words. 
Let  us  refer,  for  example,  to  the  last  instance  but  one,  in 
which  the  combination  548  occurs  —  not  far  from  the  end 
of  the  cipher.  We  know  that  the  ;  immediately  ensuing 
is  the  commencement  of  a  word,  and  of  the  six  characters 


The  Gold  Bug  61 

[succeeding  this  'the,'  we  are  cognizant  of  no  less  than 
five.  Let  us  set  these  characters  down,  thus,  by  the  let- 
ters we  know  them  to  represent,  leaving  a  space  for  the 

unknown :  - — 

t  eeth. 

"  Here  we  are  enabled,  at  once,  to  discard  the  '  M,'  as 
forming  no  portion  of  the  word  commencing  with  the  first 
\t;  since,  by  experiment  of  the  entire  alphabet  for  a  letter 
adapted  to  the  vacancy,  we  perceive  that  no  word  can  be 
formed  of  which  this  th  can  be  a  part.  We  are  thus  nar- 
rowed into  — 

tee, 

(and,  going  through  the  alphabet,  if  necessary,  as  before, 

jwe  arrive  at  the  word  'tree'  as  the  sole  possible  reading. 

I  We  thus  gain  another  letter,  r,  represented  by  (,  with  the 

[words  '  the  tree,'  in  juxtaposition. 

"  Looking  beyond  these  words,  for  a  short  distance,  we 
again  see  the  combination  548,  and  employ  it  by  way  of 
termination  to  what  immediately  precedes.  We  have  thus 
this  arrangement :  — 

the  tree;  4(J  ?  34  the, 

or,  substituting  the  natural  letters,  where  known,  it  reads 

thus  :  — 

the  tree  thr  %  ?  3  h  the. 

"  Now,  if,  in  place  of  the  unknown  characters,  we  leave 
blank  spaces,  or  substitute  dots,  we  read  thus  :  — 

the  tree  thr  .   .   .  h  the, 

when  the  word  '  through  '  makes  itself  evident  at  once. 
But  this  discovery  gives  us  three  new  letters,  o,  u,  g,  rep- 
resented by  I  ?  and  3. 

"  Looking  now,  narrowly,  through  the  cipher  for  com- 


62  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

binations  of  known  characters,  we  find,  not  very  far  from 
the  beginning,  this  arrangement:  — 
83  (88,  or  egree, 

which  plainly  is  the  conclusion  of  the  word  '  degree,'  and 
gives  us  another  letter  d,  represented  by  |. 

"  Four  letters  beyond    the  word  '  degree,'  we  perceive 

the  combination  :  — 

;46(;88. 

"  Translating   the  known  characters,  and  representing 
the  unknown  by  dots,  as  before,  we  read  thus :  —       . 

th  rtee, 

an  arrangement  immediately  suggestive  of  the  word  '  thir- 
teen,' and  again  furnishing  us  with  two  new  characters  i 
and  ;/,  represented  by  6  and  *. 

"  Referring,  now,  to  the  beginning  of  the  cryptograph, 
we  find  the  combination  :  — 

53  «t- 

"  Translating  as  before,  we  obtain  :  — 
.  good, 

which  assures  us  that  the  first  letter  is  A,  and  that  the 
first  two  words  are  '  A  good.' 

"It  is  now  time  that  we  arrange  our  key, -as  far  as  dis- 
covered, in  a  tabular   form,  to  avoid  confusion.     It  will 

stand  thus :  — 

5  represents  a 
t         "         d 

8         «          e 

3  "  g 

4  «  h 

6  "  i 
*  "  n 
t  «  o 
(  «  r 

«          t 


The  Gold  Bug  63 

"  We  have,  therefore,  no  less  than  ten  of  the  most  im- 
portant letters  represented,  and  it  will  be  unnecessary  to 
'proceed  with  the  details  of  the  solution.  I  have  said 
jenough  to  convince  you  that  ciphers  of  this  nature  are 
jreadily  soluble,  and  to  give  you  some  insight  into  the 
rationale  of  their  development.  But  be  assured  that  the 
ispecimen  before  us  appertains  to  the  very  simplest  spe- 
cies of  cryptograph.  It  now  only  remains  to  give  you  the 
full  translation  of  the  characters  upon  the  parchment,  as 
unriddled.  Here  it  is  :  — 

" '  A  good  glass  in  the  bishop's  hostel  in  the  devil's  seat  forty- 
one  degrees  and  thirteen  minutes  north-east  and  by  north  main 
branch  seventh  limb  east  side  shoot  from  the  left  eye  of  the  death's- 
head  a  bee-line  from  the  tree  through  the  shot  fifty  feet  out.'  " 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  the  enigma  seems  still  in  as  bad  a  con- 
dition as  ever.  How  is  it  possible  to  extort  a  meaning 
from  all  this  jargon  about  *  devil's  seats,'  'death's-heads,' 
and  '  bishop's  hotels  '  ?  " 

"I  confess,"  replied  Legrand,  "that  the  matter  still 
wears  a  serious  aspect  when  regarded  with  a  casual 
glance.  My  first  endeavor  was  to  divide  the  sentence 
into  the  natural  division  intended  by  the  cryptographist." 

"  You  mean,  to  punctuate  it  ?  " 

"  Something  of  that  kind." 

"  I  reflected  that  it  had  been  a  point  with  the  writer  to 
run  his  words  together  without  division,  so  as  to  increase 
the  difficulty  of  solution.  Now,  a  not  over-acute  man,  in 
pursuing  such  an  object,  would  be  nearly  certain  to 
overdo  the  matter.  When,  in  the  course  of  his  composi- 
tion, he  arrived  at  a  break  in  his  subject  which  would 
naturally  require  a  pause,  or  a  point,  he  would  be  exceed- 
ingly apt  to  run  his  characters,  at  this  place,  more  than 
usually  .close  together.  If  you  will  observe  the  MS.,  in 


64  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

the  present  instance,  you  will  easily  detect  five  such  cases 
of  unusual  crowding.  Acting  upon  this  hint,  I  made  the 
division  thus  :  — 

'"A  good  glass  in  the  Bishop's  hostel  in  the  Devil's  seat  — 
forty-one  degrees  and  thirteen  minutes  —  north-east  and  by  north 
—  main  branch  seventh  limb  east  side  —  shoot  from  the  left  eye  of 
the  death's-head  —  a  bee-line  from  the  tree  through  the  shot  fifty 
feet  out.' " 

"  Even  this  division,"  said  I,  "  leaves  me  still  in  the 
dark." 

"  It  left  me  also  in  the  dark,"  replied  Legrand,  "  for  a 
few  days  ;  during  which  I  made  diligent  inquiry,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Sullivan's  Island,  for  any  building  which 
went  by  the  name  of  the  '  Bishop's  Hotel ' ;  for  of  course 
I  dropped  the  obsolete  word  'hostel.'  Gaining  no  infor- 
mation on  the  subject,  I  was  on  the  point  of  extending  my 
sphere  of  search,  and  proceeding  in  a  more  systematic 
manner,  when  one  morning  it  entered  into  my  head,  quite 
suddenly,  that  this  '  Bishop's  Hostel '  might  have  some 
reference  to  an  old  family  of  the  name  of  Bessop,  which, 
time  out  of  mind,  had  held  possession  of  an  ancient 
manor-house,  about  four  miles  to  the  northward  of  the 
Island.  I  accordingly  went  over  to  the  plantation,  and 
re-instituted  my  inquiries  among  the  older  negroes  of  the 
place.  At  length  one  of  the  most  aged  of  the  women  said 
that  she  had  heard  of  such  a  place  as  Bessop's  Castle,  and 
thought  chat  she  could  guide  me  to  it,  but  that  it  was  not 
a  castle,  nor  a  tavern,  but  a  high  rock. 

"  I  offered  to  pay  her  well  for  her  trouble,  and,  after 
some  demur,  she  consented  to  accompany  me  to  the  spot. 
We  found  it  without  much  difficulty,  when,  dismissing  her, 
I  proceeded  to  examine  the  place.  The  'castle'  con- 
sisted of  an  irregular  assemblage  of  cliffs  and  rocks  —  one 


The  Gold  Bug  65 

of  the  latter  being  quite  remarkable  for  its  height  as  well 
as  for  its  insulated  and  artificial  appearance.  I  clam- 
pered  to  its  apex,  and  then  felt  much  at  a  loss  as  to  what 
^should  be  next  done. 

"  While  I  was  busied  in  reflection,  my  eyes  fell  upon  a 
narrow  ledge  in  the  eastern  face  of  the  rock,  perhaps  a 
('yard  below  the  summit  upon  which  I  stood.  This  ledge 
[projected  about  eighteen  inches,  and  was  not  more  than 
Ha  foot  wide,  while  a  niche  in  the  cliff  just  above  it,  gave 
it  a  rude  resemblance  to  one  of  the  hollow-backed  chairs 
[used  by  our  ancestors.  I  made  no  doubt  that  here  was 
>the  '  devil's  seat '  alluded  to  in  the  MS.,  and  now  I  seemed 
[to  grasp  the  full  secret  of  the  riddle. 

"  The  '  good  glass '  I  knew  could  have  reference  to 
' nothing  but  a  telescope ;  for  the  word  '  glass  '  is  rarely 
employed  in  any  other  sense  by  seamen.  Now  here,  I  at 
once  saw  a  telescope  to  be  used,  and  a  definite  point  of 
view,  admitting  no  variation,  from  which  to  use  it.  Nor 
did  I  hesitate  to  believe  that  the  phrases,  '  forty-one  de- 
fgrecs  and  thirteen  minutes,'  and  *  north-east  and  by  north,' 
were  intended  as  directions  for  the  levelling  of  the  glass. 
(Greatly  excited  by  these  discoveries,  I  hurried  home,  pro- 
cured a  telescope,  and  returned  to  the  rock. 

"  I  let  myself  down  to  the  ledge,  and  found  that  it  was 
impossible  to  retain  a  seat  upon  it  except  in  one  particu- 
jlar  position.  This  fact  confirmed  my  preconceived  idea. 
I  proceeded  to  use  the  glass.  Of  course,  the  'forty-one 
degrees  and  thirteen  minutes  '  could  allude  to  nothing  but 
I  elevation  above  the  visible  horizon,  since  the  horizontal 
direction  was  clearly  indicated  by  the  words,  'north-east 
and  by  north.'  This  latter  direction  I  at  once  established 
\ by  means  of  a  pocket-compass;  then,  pointing  the  glass 
as  nearly  at  an  angle  of  forty-one  degrees  of  elevation  as 


66  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

I  could  do  it  by  guess,  I  moved  it  cautiously  up  or  down, 
until  my  attention  was  arrested  by  a  circular  rift  or  open- 
ing in  the  foliage  of  a  large  tree  that  overtopped  its  fel- 
lows in  the  distance.  In  the  centre  of  this  rift  I  perceived 
a  white  spot,  but  could  not,  at  first,  distinguish  what  it 
was.  Adjusting  the  focus  of  the  telescope,  I  again  looked, 
and  now  made  it  out  to  be  a  human  skull. 

"  Upon  this  discovery  I  was  so  sanguine  as  to  consider 
the  enigma  solved;  for  the  phrase  'main  branch,  seventh 
limb,  east  side,'  could  refer  only  to  the  position  of  the 
skull  upon  the  tree,  while  '  shoot  from  the  left  eye  of  the 
death's-head '  admitted,  also,  of  but  one  interpretation,  in 
regard  to  a  search  for  buried  treasure.  I  perceived  that 
the  design  was  to  drop  a  bullet  from  the  left  eye  of  the 
skull,  and  that  a  bee-line,  or,  in  other  words,  a  straight 
line,  drawn  from  the  nearest  point  of  the  trunk  through 
*  the  shot '  (or  the  spot  where  the  bullet  fell)  and  thence 
extended  to  a  distance  of  fifty  feet,  would  indicate  a  defi- 
nite point — and  beneath  this  point  I  thought  it  at  least 
possible  that  a  deposit  of  value  lay  concealed." 

"All  this,"  I  said,  "  is  exceedingly  clear,  and,  although 
ingenious,  still  simple  and  explicit.  When  you  left  the 
Bishop's  Hotel,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  having  carefully  taken  the  bearings  of  the  tree, 
I  turned  homewards.  The  instant  that  I  left  the  '  devil's 
seat,'  however,  the  circular  rift  vanished ;  nor  could  I  get 
a  glimpse  of  it  afterwards,  turn  as  I  would.  What  seems 
to  me  the  chief  ingenuity  in  this  whole  business  is  the 
fact  (for  repeated  experiment  has  convinced  me  it  is  a 
fact)  that  the  circular  opening  in  question  is  visible  from 
no  other  attainable  point  of  view  than  that  afforded  by  the 
narrow  ledge  on  the  face  of  the  rock. 

"  In  this  expedition  to  the  *  Bishop's  Hotel '  I  had  been 


The  Gold  Bug  67 

nded  by  Jupiter,  who  had  no  doubt  observed  for  some 
ks    past   the    abstraction  of    my  demeanor,  and    took 
:cial   care  not  to    leave  me  alone.     But,  on  the  next 
y,  getting  up  very  early,  I  contrived  to  give  him  the 
,  and  went  into  the  hills  in  search  of  the  tree.     After 
:h  toil  I  found  it.     When  I  came  home  at  night  my 
t  proposed  to  give  me  a  flogging.     With  the  rest  of 
adventure  I   believe   you  are  as  well  acquainted   as 
If." 

I  suppose,"  said  I,  "you  missed  the  spot,  in  the  first 
pt  at  digging,  through  Jupiter's  stupidity  in  letting 
bug  fall  through  the  right  instead  of  through  the  left 
of  the  skull." 

"  Precisely.  This  mistake  made  a  difference  of  about 
inches  and  a  half  in  the  '  shot,'  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
ition  of  the  peg  nearest  the  tree  ;  and  had  the  treasure 
n  beneath  the  '  shot,'  the  error  would  have  been  of  little 
ient ;  but  '  the  shot,'  together  with  the  nearest  point  of 
tree,  were  merely  two  points  for  the  establishment  of  a 
of  direction  ;  of  course  the  error,  however  trivial  in 
beginning,  increased  as  we  proceeded  with  the  line, 
d  by  the  time  we  had  gone  fifty  feet,  threw  us  quite  off 
jthe  scent.  But  for  my  deep-seated  impression  that  treas- 
ure was  here  somewhere  actually  buried,  we  might  have 
had  all  our  labor  in  vain." 

I  presume  the  fancy  of  the  skull — of  letting  fall  a 
bullet  through  the  skull's  eye  —  was  suggested  to  Kidd  by 
the  piratical  flag.  No  doubt  he  felt  a  kind  of  poetical 
consistency  in  recovering  his  money  through  this  ominous 
insignium." 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  still,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  common- 
sense  had  quite  as  much  to  do  with  the  matter  as  poetical 
consistency.  To  be  visible  from  the  Devil's  seat,  it  was 


68  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

necessary  that  the  object,  if  small,  should  be  white:  and' 
there  is  nothing  like  your  human  skull  for  retaining  and 
even  increasing  its  whiteness  under  exposure  to  all  vicissi- 
tudes of  weather." 

"  But  your  grandiloquence,  and  your  conduct  in  swing- 
ing the  beetle  —  how  excessively  odd!  I  was  sure  you1 
were  mad.  And  why  did  you  insist  upon  letting  fall  the! 
bug,  instead  of  a  bullet,  from  the  skull?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  frank,  I  felt  somewhat  annoyed  by  your 
evident  suspicions  touching  my  sanity,  and  so  resolved  to 
punish  you  quietly,  in  my  awn  way,  by  a  little  bit  of  sober 
mystification.  For  this  reason  I  swung  the  beetle,  and 
for  this  reason  I  let  it  fall  from  the  tree.  An  observation 
of  yours  about  its  great  weight  suggested  the  latter  idea." 

"  Yes,  I  perceive ;  and  now  there  is  only  one  point 
which  puzzles  me.  What  are  we  to  make  of  the  skeletons 
found  in  the  hole  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  question  I  am  no  more  able  to  answer  than 
yourself.  There  seems,  however,  only  one  plausible  way 
of  accounting  for  them,  and  yet  it  is  dreadful  to  believe  in 
such  atrocity  as  my  suggestion  would  imply.  It  is  clear 
that  Kidd  —  if  Kidd  indeed  secreted  this  treasure,  wrhich 
I  doubt  not  —  it  is  clear  that  he  must  have  had  assistance 
in  the  labor.  But  this  labor  concluded,  he  may  have 
thought  it  expedient  to  remove  all  participants  in  his 
secret.  Perhaps  a  couple  of  blows  with  a  mattock  were 
sufficient,  while  his  coadjutors  were  busy  in  the  pit ;  per- 
haps it  required  a  dozen  —  who  shall  tell  ?  " 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER 

Nil  sapientiae  odiosiits  acumine  nimio, 

SENECA. 

At  Paris,  just  after  dark  one  gusty  evening  in  the 
autumn  of  18 — ,  I  was  enjoying  the  twofold  luxury  of 
meditation  and  a  meerschaum,  in  company  with  my  friend, 
I.  Auguste  Dupin,  in  his  little  back  library,  or  book-closet, 
au  troisieme,  No.  33,  Rue  Dunot,  Faubourg  Saint  Germain. 
For  one  hour  at  least  we  had  maintained  a  profound 
silence  ;  while  each,  to  any  casual  observer,  might  have 
seemed  intently  and  exclusively  occupied  with  the  curling 
eddies  of  smoke  that  oppressed  the  atmosphere  of  the 
chamber.  For  myself,  however,  I  was  mentally  discussing 
certain  topics  which  had  formed  matter  for  conversation 
between  us  at  an  earlier  period  of  the  evening ;  I  mean 
the  affair  of  the  Rue  Morgue,  and  the  mystery  attending 
the  murder  of  Marie  Roget.  I  looked  upon  it,  therefore, 
as  something  of  a  coincidence,  when  the  door  of  our 
apartment  was  thrown  open  and  admitted  our  old  acquaint- 
ance, Monsieur  G ,  the  Prefect  of  the  Parisian  police. 

We  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome ;  for  there  was  nearly 
half  as  much  of  the  entertaining  as  of  the  contemptible  about 
the  man,  and  we  had  not  seen  him  for  several  years.  We 
had  been  sitting  in  the  dark,  and  Dupin  now  arose  for  the 
purpose  of  lighting  a  lamp,  but  sat  down  again  without 
doing  so,  upon  G 's  saying  that  he  had  called  to  con- 
sult us,  or  rather  to  ask  the  opinion  of  my  friend,  about 


yo  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

some  official  business  which  had  occasioned  a  great  deal? 
of  trouble. 

"  If  it  is  any  point  requiring  reflection,"  observer 
Dupin,  as  he  forebore  to  enkindle  the  wick,  "  we  shall 
examine  it  to  better  purpose  in  the  dark." 

"  This  is  another  of  your  odd  notions,"  said  the  Prefect! 
who  had  a  fashion  of  calling  everything  "  odd  "  that  was 
beyond  his  comprehension,  and  thus  lived  amid  an  abso* 
lute  legion  of  "oddities." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Dupin,  as  he  supplied  his  visitor  with 
a  pipe,  and  rolled  towards  him  a  comfortable  chair. 

"  And  what  is  the  difficulty  now  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Nothing 
more  in  the  assassination  way,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  nothing  of  that  nature.  The  fact  is,  the 
business  is  very  simple  indeed,  and  I  make  no  doubt  that 
we  can  manage  it  sufficiently  well  ourselves ;  but  then  I 
thought  Dupin  would  like  to  hear  the  details  of  it,  because 
it  is  so  excessively  odd" 

"  Simple  and  odd,"  said  Dupin. 

"  Why,  yes ;  and  not  exactly  that,  either.  The  fact  is, 
we  have  all  been  a  good  deal  puzzled  because  the  affair 
is  so  simple,  and  yet  baffles  us  altogether." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  very  simplicity  of  the  thing  which 
puts  you  at  fault,"  said  my  friend. 

"  What  nonsense  you  do  talk  !  "  said  the  Prefect,  laugh- 
ing heartily. 

"  Perhaps  the  mystery  is  a  little  too  plain,"  said  Dupin. 

"  Oh,  good  heavens  !  who  ever  heard  of  such  an  idea  ?  " 

"  A  little  too  self-evident." 

"Hal  ha!  ha!  —  ha!  ha!  ha!  — ho!  ho!  ho !"  roared 
our  visitor,  profoundly  amused,  "  O  Dupin,  you  will  be  the 
death  of  me  yet !  " 

"  And  what,  after  all,  is  the  matter  on  hand  ?  "  I  asked. 


The  Purloined   Letter  71 

"  Why,  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  the  Prefect,  as  he  gave 
a  long,  steady,  and  contemplative  puff,  and  settled  himself 
in  his  chair.  "  I  will  tell  you  in  a  few  words  ;  but,  before 
J  begin,  let  me  caution  you  that  this  is  an  affair  demand- 
ing the  greatest  secrecy,  and  that  I  should  most  probably 
lose  the  position  I  now  hold,  were  it  known  that  I  had  con- 
fided it  to  any  one." 

"  Proceed,"  said  I. 

"  Or  not,"  said  Dupin. 

"  Well,  then ;  I  have  received  personal  information,  from 
a  very  high  quarter,  that  a  certain  document  of  the  last 
importance  has  been  purloined  from  the  royal  apartments. 
The  individual  who  purloined  it  is  known  ;  this  beyond  a 
doubt ;  he  was  seen  to  take  it.  It  is  known,  also,  that  it 
still  remains  in  his  possession." 

"  How  is  this  known  ?  "  asked  Dupin. 

"  It  is  clearly  inferred,"  replied  the  Prefect,  "from  the 
pature  of  the  document,  and  from  the  non-appearance  of 
certain  results  which  would  at  once  arise  from  its  passing 
out  of  the  robber's  possession;  —  that  is  to  say,  from  his 
employing  it  as  he  must  design  in  the  end  to  employ  it." 

"  Be  a  little  more  explicit,"  I  said. 

"Well,  I  may  venture  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  paper 
gives  its  holder  a  certain  power  in  a  certain  quarter  where 
uch  power  is  immensely  valuable."  The  Prefect  was 
bnd  of  the  cant  of  diplomacy. 

"  Still  I  do  not  quite  understand, "  said  Dupin. 

"  No  ?  Well ;  the  disclosure  of  the  document  to  a  third 
Derson,  who  shall  be  nameless,  would  bring  in  question  the 
lonor  of  a  personage  of  most  exalted  station  ;  and  this 
:act  gives  the  holder  of  the  document  an  ascendency  over 
the  illustrious  personage  whose  honor  and  peace  are  so 
jeopardized." 


72  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

"  But  this  ascendency,"  I  interposed,  "  would   depend 
upon  the  robber's  knowledge  of  the  loser's  knowledge  of^ 
the  robber.     Who  would  dare  — 

"  The  thief,"  said  G ,  "is  the  minister  D ,  who 

dares  all  things,  those  unbecoming  as  well  as  those  becom- 
ing a  man.  The  method  of  the  theft  was  not  less  ingenious 
than  bold.  The  document  in  question  —  a  letter,  to  be 
frank —  had  been  received  by  the  personage  robbed  while 
alone  in  the  royal  boudoir.  During  its  perusal  she  was 
suddenly  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  other  exalted 
personage,  from  whom  especially  it  was  her  wish  to  con- 
ceal it.  After  a  hurried  and  vain  endeavor  to  thrust  it  in 
a  drawer,  she  was  forced  to  place  it,  open  as  it  was,  upon 
a  table.  The  address,  however,  was  uppermost,  and,  the 
contents  thus  unexposed,  the  letter  escaped  notice.  At 

this  juncture  enters  the  minister  D .      His  lynx  eye 

immediately  perceives    the    paper,  recognizes   the   hand- 
writing of  the  address,  observes  the  confusion  of  the  per-  \ 
sonage  addressed,  and  fathoms  her  secret.      After  some  ] 
business    transactions,    hurried    through    in    his    ordinary 
manner,  he  produces  a  letter  somewhat  similar  to  the  one 
in  question,  opens  it,  pretends  to  read  it,  and  then  places 
it  in  close  juxtaposition  to  the  other.     Again  he  converses 
for  some  fifteen  minutes  upon  the  public  affairs.    At  length, 
in  taking  leave,  he  takes  also  from  the  table  the  letter  to 
which  he  had  no  claim.     Its  rightful  owner  saw,  but,  of 
course,  dared  not  call  attention  to  the  act,  in  the  presence 
of   the  third  personage,  who  stood    at  her  elbow.      The : 
minister  decamped,  leaving  his  own    letter  —  one   of   no  | 
importance  —  upon  the  table." 

"Here,  then,"  said  Dupin  to  me,  "you  have  precisely 
what  you  demand  to  make  the  ascendency  complete  —  the 
robber's  knowledge  of  the  loser's  knowledge  of  the  robber." 


The   Purloined   Letter  73 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Prefect;  "  and  the  power  thus  at- 
tained has  for  some  months  past  been  wielded,  for  politi- 
cal purposes,  to  a  very  dangerous  extent.  The  personage 
robbed  is  more  thoroughly  convinced  every  day  of  the 
necessity  of  reclaiming  her  letter.  But  this,  of  course, 
cannot  be  done  openly.  In  fine,  driven  to  despair,  she 
has  committed  the  matter  to  me." 

"  Than  whom,"  said  Dupin,  amid  a  perfect  whirlwind 
of  smoke,  "  no  more  sagacious  agent  could,  I  suppose,  be 
desired,  or  even  imagined." 

"  You  flatter  me,"  replied  the  Prefect ;  "  but  it  is  possi- 
ble that  some  such  opinion  may  have  been  entertained." 

"  It  is  clear,"  said  I,  "  as  you  observe,  that  the  letter  is 
still  in  possession  of  the  minister ;  since  it  is  this  posses- 
sion, and  not  any  employment  of  the  letter,  which  bestows 
the  power.  With  the  employment  the  power  departs." 

"True,"  said  G ;  "and  upon  this  conviction  I 

proceeded.  My  first  care  was  to  make  thorough  search 
of  the  minister's  hotel ;  and  here  my  chief  embarrassment 
lay  in  the  necessity  of  searching  without  his  knowledge. 
Beyond  all  things,  I  have  been  warned  of  the  danger 
which  would  result  from  giving  him  reason  to  suspect  our 
design." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "you  are  quite  au  fait  in  these  investi- 
gations. The  Parisian  police  have  done  this  thing  often 
before." 

"  Oh  yes ;  and  for  this  reason  I  did  not  despair.  The 
habits  of  the  minister  gave  me,  too,  a  great  advantage. 
He  is  frequently  absent  from  home  all  night.  His  ser- 
vants are  by  no  means  numerous.  They  sleep  at  a  dis- 
tance from  their  master's  apartment,  and,  being  chiefly 
Neapolitans,  are  readily  made  drunk.  I  have  keys,  as 
you  know,  with  which  I  can  open  any  chamber  or  cabinet 


74  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

in  Paris.  For  three  months  a  night  has  not  passed, 
during  the  greater  part  of  which  I  have  not  been 

engaged,  personally,  in  ransacking  the  D Hotel.      My 

honor  is  interested,  and,  to  mention  a  great  secret,  the 
reward  is  enormous.  So  I  did  not  abandon  the  search 
until  I  had  become  fully  satisfied  that  the  thief  is  a  more 
astute  man  than  myself.  I  fancy  that  I  have  investigated 
every  nook  and  corner  of  the  premises  in  which  it  is  pos- 
sible that  the  paper  can  be  concealed." 

"  But  is  it  not  possible,"  I  suggested,  "  that  although 
the  letter  may  be  in  possession  of  the  minister,  as  it  un- 
questionably is,  he  may  have  concealed  it  elsewhere  than 
upon  his  own  premises  ?  " 

"  This  is  barely  possible,"  said  Dupin.  "The  present 
peculiar  condition  of  affairs  at  court,  and  especially  of 

those  intrigues  in  which  D is  known  to  be  involved, 

would  render  the  instant  availability  of  the  document  — 
its  susceptibility  of  being  produced  at  a  moment's  notice 
—  a  point  of  nearly  equal  importance  with  its  possession." 

"  Its  susceptibility  of  being  produced  ?  "  said  I. 

"  That  is  to  say,  of  being  destroyed"  said  Dupin. 

"  True,"  I  observed  ;  "  the  paper  is  clearly  then  upon 
the  premises.  As  for  its  being  upon  the  person  of  the 
minister,  we  may  consider  that  as  out  of  the  question." 

"  Entirely,"  said  the  Prefect.  "  He  has  been  twice 
waylaid,  as  if  by  footpads,  and  his  person  rigorously 
searched  under  my  own  inspection." 

"  You  might   have  spared   yourself   the  trouble,"  said 

Dupin.      "  D ,  I    presume,  is    not   altogether   a   fool, 

and,  if  not,  must  have  anticipated  these  waylayings,  as  at 
matter  of  course." 

"  Not  altogether  a  fool,"  said  G ;  "but  then  he's  a! 

poet,  which  I  take  to  be  only  one  remove  from  a  fool." 


The  Purloined   Letter  75 

"True,"  said  Dupin,  after  a  long  and  thoughtful  whiff 
from  his  meerschaum,  "  although  I  have  been  guilty  of 
certain  doggerel  myself." 

"  Suppose  you  detail,"  said  I,  "  the  particulars  of  your 
search." 

"  Why,  the  fact  is,  we  took  our  time,  and  we  searched 
everywhere.  I  have  had  long  experience  in  these  affairs. 
I  took  the  entire  building,  room  by  room,  devoting  the 
nights  of  a  whole  week  to  each.  We  examined,  first,  the 
furniture  of  each  apartment.  We  opened  every  possible 
drawer ;  and  I  presume  you  know  that,  to  a  properly 
trained  police  agent,  such  a  thing  as  a  secret  drawer  is 
impossible.  Any  man  is  a  dolt  who  permits  a  '  secret ' 
drawer  to  escape  him  in  a  search  of  this  kind.  The 
thing  is  so  plain.  There  is  a  certain  amount  of  bulk  — 
of  space  —  to  be  accounted  for  in  every  cabinet.  Then 
we  have  accurate  rules.  The  fiftieth  part  of  a  line  coulcl 
not  escape  us.  After  the  cabinets  we  took  the  chairs. 
The  cushions  we  probed  with  the  fine  long  needles  you 
have  seen  me  employ.  From  the  tables  we  removed  the 
tops." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  the  top  of  a  table  or  other  similarly 
arranged  piece  of  furniture  is  removed  by  the  person 
wishing  to  conceal  an  article ;  then  the  leg  is  excavated, 
the  article  deposited  within  the  cavity,  and  the  top  re- 
placed. The  bottoms  and  tops  of  bed-posts  are  employed 
in  the  same  way." 

"But  could  not  the  cavity  be  detected  by  sounding?" 
I  asked. 

"By  no  means,  if,  when  the  article  is  deposited,  a  suffi- 
cient wadding  of  cotton  be  placed  around  it.  Besides, 
in  our  Qase  we  were  obliged  to  proceed  without  noise." 


76  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

"  But  you  could  not  have  removed  —  you  could  not 
have  taken  to  pieces  all  articles  of  furniture  in  which  it 
would  have  been  possible  to  make  a  deposit  in  the  man- 
ner you  mention.  A  letter  may  be  compressed  into  a 
thin  spiral  roll,  not  differing  much  in  shape  or  bulk  from 
a  large  knitting-needle,  and  in  this  form  it  might  be  in- 
serted into  the  rung  of  a  chair,  for  example.  You  did 
not  take  to  pieces  all  the  chairs  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  we  did  better  —  we  examined  the 
rungs  of  every  chair  in  the  hotel,  and  indeed,  the  joint- 
ings of  every  description  of  furniture,  by  the  aid  of  a 
most  powerful  microscope.  Had  there  been  any  traces 
of  recent  disturbance  we  should  not  have  failed  to  detect 
it  instantly.  A  single  grain  of  gimlet-dust,  for  example, 
would  have  been  as  obvious  as  an  apple.  Any  disorder 
in  the  gluing,  any  unusual  gaping  in  the  joints,  would 
have  sufficed  to  insure  detection." 

"  I  presume  you  looked  to  the  mirrors,  between  the 
boards  and  the  plates,  and  you  probed  the  beds  and  the 
bed-clothes,  as  well  as  the  curtains  and  carpets." 

"  That,  of  course ;  and  when  we  had  absolutely  com- 
pleted every  article  of  furniture  in  this  way,  then  we  ex- 
amined the  house  itself.  We  divided  its  entire  surface 
into  compartments,  which  we  numbered,  so  that  none 
might  be  missed ;  then  we  scrutinized  each  individual 
square  inch  throughout  the  premises,  including  the  two 
houses  immediately  adjoining,  with  the  microscope,  as 
before." 

"  The  two  houses  adjoining !  "  I  exclaimed ;  "  you 
must  have  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble." 

"We  had  ;  but  the  reward  offered  is  prodigious." 

"  You  include  the  grounds  about  the  houses  ?  " 

''  All  the  grounds  are  paved  with  brick.     They  gave  us 


The   Purloined   Letter  77 

comparatively  little  trouble.  We  examined  the  moss  be- 
tween the  bricks,  and  found  it  undisturbed." 

"You  looked  among  D 's  papers,  of  course,  and 

into  the  books  of  the  library  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  we  opened  every  package  and  parcel ;  we 
not  only  opened  every  book,  but  we  turned  over  every 
leaf  in  each  volume,  not  contenting  ourselves  with  a  mere 
shake,  according  to  the  fashion  of  some  of  our  police 
officers.  We  also  measured  the  thickness  of  every  book- 
cover,  with  the  most  accurate  admeasurement,  and  applied 
to  each  the  most  jealous  scrutiny  of  the  microscope. 
Had  any  of  the  bindings  been  recently  meddled  with,  it 
would  have  been  utterly  impossible  that  the  fact  should 
have  escaped  observation.  Some  five  or  six  volumes, 
just  from  the  hands  of  the  binder,  we  carefully  probed, 
longitudinally,  with  the  needles." 

"  You  explored  the  floors  beneath  the  carpets  ?  " 

"  Beyond  doubt.  We  removed  every  carpet,  and  ex- 
amined the  boards  with  the  microscope." 

"  And  the  paper  on  the  walls  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  looked  into  the  cellars  ?  " 

"We  did." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  you  have  been  making  a  miscalcula- 
tion, and  the  letter  is  not  upon  the  premises,  as  you 
suppose." 

"  I  fear  you  are  right  there,"  said  the  Prefect.  "  And 
now,  Dupin,  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  To  make  a  thorough  re-search  of  the  premises." 

"  That  is  absolutely  needless,"  replied  G .  "  I  am 

not  more  sure  that  I  breathe  than  I  am  that  the  letter  is 
not  at  the  hotel." 

"I    have    no   better  advice  to  give   you,"  said  Dupin, 


78  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

"  You  have,  of  'course,  an  accurate  description  of  the 
letter?" 

"  Oh,  yes."  And  here  the  Prefect,  producing  a  memo- 
randum-book, proceeded  to  read  aloud  a  minute  account 
of  the  internal,  and  especially  of  the  external  appearance 
of  the  missing  document.  Soon  after  finishing  the  pe- 
rusal of  this  description,  he  took  his  departure,  more  en- 
tirely depressed  in  spirits  than  I  had  ever  known  the  good 
gentleman  before. 

In  about  a  month  afterward  he  paid  us  another  visit, 
and  found  us  occupied  very  nearly  as  before.  He  took 
a  pipe  and  a  chair,  and  entered  into  some  ordinary  con- 
versation. At  length  I  said  :  — 

"Well,  but  G ,  what  of  the  purloined  letter?  I 

presume  you  have  at  last  made  up  your  mind  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  overreaching  the  minister  ?  " 

"  Confound  him,  say  I  —  yes;  I  made  the  re-examina- 
tion, however,  as  Dupin  suggested ;  but  it  was  all  labor 
lost,  as  I  knew  it  would  be." 

"  How  much  was  the  reward  offered,  did  you  say  ?  " 
asked  Dupin. 

"Why,  a  very  great  deal  —  a  very  liberal  reward  —  I 
don't  like  to  say  how  much  precisely;  but  one  thing  I 
will  say,  that  I  wouldn't  mind  giving  my  individual  check 
for  fifty  thousand  francs  to  any  one  who  obtains  me  that 
letter.  The  fact  is,  it  is  becoming  of  more  and  more  im- 
portance every  day ;  and  the  reward  has  been  lately 
doubled.  If  it  were  trebled,  however,  I  could  do  no 
more  than  I  have  done." 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Dupin  drawlingly,  between  the  whiffs 

of  his  meerschaum,  "I  really  —  think,  G ,  you  have 

not  exerted  yourself  —  to  the  utmost  in  this  matter.  You 
might  do  a  little  more,  I  think,  eh  ?  " 


The   Purloined   Letter  79 

"  How  ?  in  what  way  ?  " 

"  Why,  [puff,  puff]  you  might  [puff,  puff]  employ  coun- 
sel in  the  matter,  eh?  [puff,  puff,  puff].  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  story  they  tell  of  Abernethy  ?  " 

11  No  ;  hang  Abernethy  !  " 

"  To  be  sure  !  hang  him  and  welcome.  But,  once  upon 
a  time,  a  certain  rich  miser  conceived  the  design  of 
sponging  upon  this  Abernethy  for  a  medical  opinion. 
Getting  up,  for  this  purpose,  an  ordinary  conversation  in 
a  private  company,  he  insinuated  his  case  to  the  physician, 
as  that  of  an  imaginary  individual. 

"  '  We  will  suppose,'  said  the  miser,  '  that  his  symptoms 
are  such  and  such  ;  now,  doctor,  what  would  you  have 
directed  him  to  take  ? ' 

"  '  Take  !  '  said  Abernethy,  '  why,  take  advice,  to  be 
sure.'" 

"But,"  said  the  Prefect,  a  little  discomposed,  "  /  am 
perfectly  willing  to  take  advice,  and  to  pay  for  it.  I 
would  really  give  fifty  thousand  francs  to  any  one  who 
would  aid  me  in  the  matter." 

"  In  that  case,"  replied  Dupin,  opening  a  drawer,  and 
producing  a  check-book,  "you  may  as  well  fill  me  up  a 
check  for  the  amount  mentioned.  When  you  have  signed 
it,  I  will  hand  you  the  letter." 

I  was  astounded.  The  Prefect  appeared  absolutely 
thunderstricken.  For  some  minutes  he  remained  speech- 
less and  motionless,  looking  incredulously  at  my  friend 
with  open  mouth,  and  eyes  that  seemed  starting  from 
their  sockets ;  then,  apparently  recovering  himself  in 
some  measure,  he  seized  a  pen,  and,  after  several  pauses 
and  vacant  stares,  finally  filled  up  and  signed  a  check 
for  fifty  thousand  francs,  and  handed  it  across  the  table 
to  Dupin.  The  latter  examined  it  carefully,  and  depos- 


8o  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

ited  it  in  his  pocket-book ;  then,  unlocking  an  escritoire, 
took  thence  a  letter  and  gave  it  to  the  Prefect.  This 
functionary  grasped  it  in  a  perfect  agony  of  joy,  opened 
it  with  a  trembling  hand,  cast  a  rapid  glance  at  its  con- 
tents, and  then,  scrambling  and  struggling  to  the  door, 
rushed  at  length  unceremoniously  from  the  room  and 
from  the  house,  without  having  offered  a  syllable  since 
Dupin  had  requested  him  to  fill  up  the  check. 

When  he  had  gone,  my  friend  entered  into  some 
explanations. 

"  The  Parisian  police,"  he  said,  "  are  exceedingly  able 
in  their  way.  They  are  persevering,  ingenious,  cunning, 
and  thoroughly  versed  in  the  knowledge  which  their 
duties  seem  chiefly  to  demand.  Thus,  when  G de- 
tailed to  us  his  mode  of  searching  the  premises  of  the 

Hotel  D ,  I  felt  entire  confidence  in  his  having  made 

a  satisfactory  investigation  —  so  far  as  his  labors  ex- 
tended." 

"  So  far  as  his  labors  extended  ?  "  said  I. 

"Yes,"  said  Dupin.  "The  measures  adopted  were 
not  only  the  best  of  their  kind,  but  carried  out  to  abso- 
lute perfection.  Had  the  letter  been  deposited  within 
the  range  of  their  search,  these  fellows  would,  beyond  a 
question,  have  found  it." 

I  merely  laughed,  but  he  seemed  quite  serious  in  all 
that  he  said. 

"  The  measures,  then,"  he  continued,  "  were  good  in 
their  kind,  and  we'll  executed ;  their  defect  lay  in  their 
being  inapplicable  to  the  case  and  to  the  man.  A  certain 
set  of  highly  ingenious  resources  are,  with  the  Prefect,  a 
sort  of  Procrustean  bed,  to  which  he  forcibly  adapts  his 
designs.  But  he  perpetually  errs  by  being  too  deep  or 
too  shallow,  for  the  matter  in  hand  ;  and  many  a  school- 


The   Purloined   Letter  81 

boy  is  a  better  reasoner  than  he.  I  knew  one  about  eight 
years  of  age,  whose  success  at  guessing  in  the  game  of 
'  even  and  odd  '  attracted  universal  admiration.  This 
game  is  simple,  and  is  played  with  marbles.  One  player 
holds  in  his  hand  a  number  of  these  toys,  and  demands  of 
another  whether  that  number  is  even  or  odd.  If  the  guess 
is  right,  the  guesser  wins  one  ;  if  wrong,  he  loses  one. 
The  boy  to  whom  I  allude  won  all  the  marbles  of  the 
school.  Of  course  he  had  some  principle  of  guessing ; 
and  this  lay  in  mere  observation  and  admeasurement  of 
the  astuteness  of  his  opponents.  For  example,  an  arrant 
simpleton  is  his  opponent,  and,  holding  up  his  closed 
hand  asks,  '  Are  they  even  or  odd  ?  '  Our  schoolboy 
replies,  '  Odd,'  and  loses ;  but  upon  the  second  trial  he 
wins,  for  he  then  says  to  himself,  '  The  simpleton  had  them 
even  upon  the  first  trial,  and  his  amount  of  cunning  is  just 
sufficient  to  make  him  have  them  odd  upon  the  second ;  I 
will  therefore  guess  odd ;  '  he  guesses  odd,  and  wins. 
Now,  with  a  simpleton  a  degree  above  the  first  he  would 
have  reasoned  thus :  '  This  fellow  finds  that  in  the  first 
instance  I  guessed  odd,  and  in  the  second  he  will  propose 
to  himself,  upon  the  first  impulse,  a  simple  variation  from 
even  to  odd,  as  did  the  first  simpleton  ;  but  then  a  second 
thought  will  suggest  that  this  is  too  simple  a  variation,  and 
finally  he  will  decide  upon  putting  it  even  as  before.  I 
will  therefore  guess  even  ;  '  he  guesses  even,  and  wins. 
Now,  this  mode  of  reasoning  in  the  schoolboy,  whom  his 
fellows  term  i  lucky,'  what,  in  its  last  analysis,  is  it?  " 

"  It  is  merely,"  I  said,  "  an  identification  of  the  reason- 
er's  intellect  with  that  of  his  opponent." 

"  It  is,"  said  Dupin  ;  "  and,  upon  inquiring  of  the  boy 
by  what  means  he  effected  the  thorough  identification  in 
which  his  success  consisted,  I  received  answer  as  follows : 


82  Edgar  Allan    Poe 

( When  I  wish  to  find  out  how  wise,  or  how  stupid,  or  how 
good,  or  how  wicked  is  any  one,  or  what  are  his  thoughts 
at  the  moment,  I  fashion  the  expression  of  my  face,  as 
accurately  as  possible,  in  accordance  with  the  expression 
of  his,  and  then  wait  to  see  what  thoughts  or  sentiments 
arise  in  my  mind  or  heart,  as  if  to  match  or  correspond 
with  the  expression.'  This  response  of  the  schoolboy  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  all  the  spurious  profundity  which  has 
been  attributed  to  Rochefoucauld,  to  La  Bougive,  to 
Machiavelli,  and  to  Campanella." 

"And  the  identification,"  I  said,  "  of  the  reasoner's  in- 
tellect with  that  of  his  opponent  depends,  if  I  understand 
you  aright,  upon  the  accuracy  with  which  the  opponent's 
intellect  is  admeasured." 

"  For  its  practical  value  it  depends  upon  this,"  replied 
Dupin  ;  "  and  the  Prefect  and  his  cohort  fail  so  frequently, 
first,  by  default  of  this  identification,  and  secondly,  by  ill- 
admeasurement,  or  rather  through  non-admeasurement,  of 
the  intellect  with  which  they  are  engaged.  They  consider 
only  their  own  ideas  of  ingenuity ;  and,  in  searching  for 
anything  hidden,  advert  only  to  the  modes  in  which  they 
would  have  hidden  it.  They  are  right  in  this  much  — 
that  their  own  ingenuity  is  a  faithful  representative  of  that 
of  the  mass  ;  but  when  the  cunning  of  the  individual  felon 
is  diverse  in  character  from  their  own,  the  felon  foils 
them,  of  course.  This  always  happens  when  it  is  above 
their  own,  and  very  usually  when  it  is  below.  They  have 
no  variation  of  principle  in  their  investigations ;  at  best, 
when  urged  by  some  unusual  emergency  —  by  some  ex- 
traordinary reward  —  they  extend  or  exaggerate  their  old 
modes  of  practice,  without  touching  their  principles.  What, 

for  example,  in  this  case  of  D ,  has  been  done  to  vary 

the  principle  of  action  ?  What  is  all  this  boring,  and 


The   Purloined   Letter  83 

probing,  and  sounding,  and  scrutinizing  with  the  micro- 
scope, and  dividing  the  surface  of  the  building  into  regis- 
tered square  inches  —  what  is  it  all  but  an  exaggeration 
of  the  application  of  the  one  principle  or  set  of  principles 
of  search,  which  are  based  upon  the  one  set  of  notions 
regarding  human  ingenuity,  to  which  the  Prefect,  in  the 
long  routine  of  his  duty,  has  been  accustomed  ?  Do  you 
not  see  he  has  taken  it  for  granted  that  all  men  proceed  to 
conceal  a  letter  —  not  exactly  in  a  gimlet-hole  bored  in  a 
chair-leg  —  but,  at  least,  in  some  out-of-the-way  hole  or 
corner  suggested  by  the  same  tenor  of  thought  which 
would  urge  a  man  to  secrete  a  letter  in  a  gimlet-hole  bored 
in  a  chair  leg  ?  And  do  you  not  see  also,  that  such  recherche 
nooks  for  concealment  are  adapted  only  for  ordinary  occa- 
sions, and  would  te  adopted  only  by  ordinary  intellects  ? 
—  for,  in  all  cases  of  concealment,  a  disposal  of  the  article 
concealed —  a  disposal  of  it  in  this  recherche  manner,  is,  in 
the  very  first  instance,  presumable  and  presumed ;  and 
thus  its  discovery  depends,  not  at  all  upon  the  acumen, 
but  altogether  upon  the  mere  care,  patience,  and  deter- 
mination of  the  seekers  ;  and  where  the  case  is  of  impor- 
tance—  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same  thing  in  the  policial 
eyes,  when  the  reward  is  of  magnitude  —  the  qualities  in 
question  have  never  been  known  to  fail.  You  will  now 
understand  what  I  meant  in  suggesting  that,  had  the  pur- 
loined letter  been  hidden  anywhere  within  the  limits  of  the 
Prefect's  examination  —  in  other  words,  had  the  principle 
of  its  concealment  been  comprehended  within  the  princi- 
ples of  the  Prefect  —  its  discovery  would  have  been  a 
matter  altogether  beyond  question.  This  functionary, 
however,  has  been  thoroughly  mystified  ;  and  the  remote 
source  of  his  defeat  lies  in  the  supposition  that  the  minister 
is  a  fool, .because  he  has  acquired  renown  as  a  poet.  All 


84  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

fools  are  poets  ;  this  the  Prefect  feels ;  and  he  is  merely 
guilty  of  a  non  distributio  medii  in  thence  inferring  that  all 
poets  are  fools." 

"But  is  this  really  the  poet?"  I  asked.  "  There  are 
two  brothers,  I  know ;  and  both  have  attained  reputation 
in  letters.  The  minister,  I  believe,  has  written  learnedly 
on  the  Differential  Calculus.  He  is  a  mathematician,  and 
no  poet." 

"  You  are  mistaken  ;  I  know  him  well ;  he  is  both.  As 
poet  and  mathematician  he  would  reason  well ;  as  mere 
mathematician  he  could  not  have  reasoned  at  all,  and  thus 
would  have  been  at  the  mercy  of  the  Prefect." 

"You  surprise  me,"  I  said,  "by  these  opinions,  which 
have  been  contradicted  by  the  voice  of  the  world.  You 
do  not  mean  to  set  at  naught  the  well-digested  idea  of 
centuries.  The  mathematical  reason  has  long  been  re- 
garded as  the  reason  par  excellence. " 

"  '  II y  a  a  paricr?  "  replied  Dupin,  quoting  from  Cham- 
fort,  "  '  que  toute  idee  publique,  toute  convention  re$ue,  est  une 
sottise,  car  elle  a  convenue  au  plus  grand e  nombre.'*  The 
mathematicians,  I  grant  you,  have  done  their  best  to 
promulgate  the  popular  error  to  which  you  allude,  and 
which  is  none  the  less  an  error  for  its  promulgation  as 
truth.  With  an  art  worthy  a  better  cause,  for  example, 
they  have  insinuated  the  term  '  analysis  '  into  application 
to  algebra.  The  French  are  the  originators  of  this  practi- 
cal deception  ;  but  if  the  term  is  of  any  importance  —  if 
words  derive  any  value  from  applicability  —  then  '  analysis  ' 
conveys,  in  algebra,  about  as  much  as,  in  Latin,  *  ambitus'' 
implies  '  ambition,'  '  religioj  '  religion,'  or  '  homines  hones  ti? 
1  a  set  of  honorable  men.'  " 

"  You  have  a  quarrel  on  hand,  I  see,"  said  I,  "  with 
some  of  the  algebraists  of  Paris ;  but  proceed." 


The   Purloined   Letter  85 


"  I  dispute  the  availability,  and  thus  the  value,  of  that 
reason  which  is  cultivated  in  any  especial  form  other  than 
the  abstractly  logical.  I  dispute,  in  particular,  the  reason 
educed  by  mathematical  study.  The  mathematics  are  the 
science  of  form  and  quantity ;  mathematical  reasoning  is 
merely  logic  applied  to  observation  upon  form  and  quan- 
tity. The  great  error  lies  in  supposing  that  even  the 
truths  of  what  is  called  pure  algebra  are  abstract  or  general 
truths.  And  this  error  is  so  egregious  that  I  am  con- 
founded at  the  universality  with  which  it  has  been  re- 
ceived. Mathematical  axioms  are  not  axioms  of  general 
truth.  What  is  true  of  relation,  of  form  and  quantity,  is 
often  grossly  false  in  regard  to  morals,  for  example.  In 
this  latter  science  it  is  very  unusually  untrue  that  the 
aggregated  parts  are  equal  to  the  whole.  In  chemistry, 
also,  the  axiom  fails.  In  the  consideration  of  motive  it 
fails  ;  for  two  motives,  each  of  a  given  value,  have  not, 
necessarily,  a  value,  when  united,  equal  to  the  sum  of  their 
values  apart.  There  are  numerous  other  mathematical 
truths  which  are  only  truths  within  the  limits  of  relation. 
But  the  mathematician  argues,  from  his  finite  truths, 
through  habit,  as  if  they  were  of  an  absolutely  general 
applicability — as  the  world  indeed  imagines  them  to  be. 
Bryant,  in  his  very  learned  'Mythology,'  mentions  an 
analogous  source  of  error,  when  he  says  that  *  although 
the  Pagan  fables  are  not  believed,  yet  we  forget  ourselves 
continually,  and  make  inferences  from  them  as  existing 
realities.'  With  the  algebraists,  however,  who  are  Pagans 
themselves,  the  '  Pagan  fables  '  are  believed ;  and  the  in- 
ferences are  made,  not  so  much  through  lapse  of  memory, 
as  through  an  unaccountable  addling  of  the  brains.  In 
short,  I  never  yet  encountered  the  mere  mathematician 
who  could  be  trusted  out  of  equal  roots,  or  one  who  did 


86  Edgar  Allan    Poe 

not  clandestinely  hold  it  as  a  point  of  his  faith  that  x1  +  px 
was  absolutely  and  unconditionally  equal  to  q.  Say  to  one  ( 
of  these  gentlemen,  by  way  of  experiment  if  you  please, 
that  you  believe  occasions  may  occur  where  x*1  -\-  px  is  not 
altogether  equal  to  q,  and,  having  made  him  understand 
what  you  mean,  get  out  of  his  reach  as  speedily  as  con- 
venient, for,  beyond  doubt,  he  will  endeavor  to  knock  you 
down. 

"  I  mean  to  say,"  continued  Dupin,  while  I  merely 
laughed  at  his  last  observations,  "  that  if  the  minister 
had  been  no  more  than  a  mathematician,  the  Prefect 
would  have  been  under  no  necessity  of  giving  me  this 
check.  I  knew  him,  however,  as  both  mathematician  and 
poet ;  and  my  measures  were  adapted  to  his  capacity, 
with  reference  to  the  circumstances  by  which  he  was 
surrounded.  I  know  him  as  courtier,  too,  and  as  a  bold 
intrigant.  Such  a  man,  I  consider,  could  not  fail  to  be 
aware  of  the  ordinary  political  modes  of  action.  He 
could  not  have  failed  to  anticipate  —  and  events  have 
proved  that  he  did  not  fail  to  anticipate  —  the  waylayings 
to  which  he  was  subjected.  He  must  have  foreseen,  I 
reflected,  the  secret  investigations  of  his  premises.  His 
frequent  absences  from  home  at  night,  which  were  hailed 
by  the  Prefect  as  certain  aids  to  his  success,  I  regarded 
only  as  ruses,  to  afford  opportunity  for  thorough  search 
to  the  police,  and  thus  the  sooner  to  impress  them  with 

the  conviction  to  which  G ,  in  fact,  did  finally  arrive 

—  the  conviction  that  the  letter  was  not  upon  the  prem- 
ises. I  felt,  also,  that  the  whole  train  of  thought,  which 
I  was  at  some  pains  in  detailing  to  you  just  now,  concern- 
ing the  invariable  principle  of  policial  action  in  searches 
for  articles  concealed,  I  felt  that  this  whole  train  of 
thought  would  necessarily  pass  through  the  mind  of  the 


The  Purloined   Letter  87 

minister.  It  would'  imperatively  lead  him  to  despise  all 
the  ordinary  nooks  of  concealment.  He  could  not,  I  re- 
flected, be  so  weak  as  not  to  see  that  the  most  intricate 
and  remote  recess  of  his  hotel  would  be  as  open  as  his 
commonest  closets  to  the  eyes,  to  the  probes,  to  the  gim- 
lets, and  to  the  microscopes  of  the  Prefect.  I  saw,  in 
fine,  that  he  would  be  driven,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to 
simplicity,  if  not  deliberately  induced  to  it  as  a  matter  of 
choice.  You  will  remember,  perhaps,  how  desperately 
the  Prefect  laughed  when  I  suggested,  upon  our  first  in- 
terview, that  it  was  just  possible  this  mystery  troubled 
him  so  much  on  account  of  its  being  so  very  self-evident." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "I  remember  his  merriment  well.  I 
really  thought  he  would  have  fallen  into  convulsions." 

"The  material  world,"  continued  Dupin,-  "abounds 
with  very  strict  analogies  to  the  immaterial ;  and  thus 
some  color  of  truth  has  been  given  to  the  rhetorical 
dogma,  that  metaphor,  or  simile,  may  be  made  to 
strengthen  an  argument,  as  well  as  to  embellish  a  de- 
scription. The  principle  of  the  vis  inertia -,  for  example, 
seems  to  be  identical  in  physics  and  metaphysics.  It  is 
not  more  true  in  the  former,  that  a  large  body  is  with 
more  difficulty  set  in  motion  than  a  smaller  one,  and  that 
its  subsequent  momentum  is  commensurate  with  this  diffi- 
culty, that  it  is  in  the  Blatter,  that  intellects  of  the  vaster 
capacity,  while  more  forcible,  more  constant,  and  more 
eventful  in  their  movements  than  those  of  inferior  grade, 
are  yet  the  less  readily  moved,  and  more  embarrassed 
and  full  of  hesitation  in*  the  first  few  steps  of  their  prog- 
ress. Again ;  have  you  ever  noticed  which  of  the  street 
signs  over  the  shop  doors  are  the  most  attractive  of 
attention  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  given  the  matter  a  thought,"  I  said. 


88  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

"  There  is  a  game  of  puzzles,"  he  resumed,  "which  is 
played  upon  a  map.  One  party  playing  requires  another 
to  find  a  given  word  —  the  name  of  town,  river,  state,  or 
empire  —  any  word,  in  short,  upon  the  motley  and  per- 
plexed surface  of  the  chart.  A  novice  in  the  game  gener- 
ally seeks  to  embarrass  his  opponents  by  giving  them  the 
most  minutely  lettered  names  ;  but  the  adept  selects  such 
words  as  stretch,  in  large  characters,  from  one  end  of  the 
chart  to  the  other.  These,  like  the  over-largely  lettered 
signs  and  placards  of  the  street,  escape  observation  by 
dint  of  being  excessively  obvious ;  and  here  the  physical 
oversight  is  precisely  analogous  with  the  moral  inappre- 
hension  by  which  the  intellect  suffers  to  pass  unnoticed 
those  considerations  which  are  too  obtrusively  and  too 
palpably  self-evident.  But  this  is  a  point,  it  appears, 
somewhat  above  or  beneath  the  understanding  of  the 
Prefect.  He  never  once  thought  it  probable,  or  possible, 
that  the  minister  had  deposited  the  letter  immediately 
beneath  the  nose  of  the  whole  world,  by  way  of  best  pre- 
venting any  portion  of  that  world  from  perceiving  it. 

"  But  the    more  I    reflected  upon  the  daring,  dashing, 

and    discriminating   ingenuity  of    D ;  upon    the    fact 

that  the  document  must  always  have  been  at  hand,  if  he 
intended  to  use  it  to  good  purpose  ;  and  upon  the  deci- 
sive evidence,  obtained  by  the  Prefect,  that  it  was  not 
hidden  within  the  limits  of  that  dignitary's  ordinary  search 
—  the  more  satisfied  I  became  that,  to  conceal  this  letter,  j 
the  minister  had  resorted  to  the  comprehensive  and  saga- 
cious expedient  of  not  attempting *to  conceal  it  at  all. 

"  Full  of  these  ideas,  I  prepared  myself  with  a  pair  of 
green  spectacles,  and  called  one  fine  morning,  quite  by 

accident,    at   the    ministerial    hotel.     I   found   D at 

home,  yawning,  lounging,    and   dawdling,  as    usual,    and 


The   Purloined   Letter  89 

pretending  to  be  in  the  last  extremity  of  ennui.  He  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  really  energetic  human  being  now  alive 
—  but  that  is  only  when  nobody  sees  him. 

"  To  be  even  with  him,  I  complained  of  my  weak  eyes, 
and  lamented  the  necessity  of  the  spectacles,  under  cover 
of  which  I  cautiously  and  thoroughly  surveyed  the  whole 
apartment,  while  seemingly  intent  only  upon  the  conver- 
sation of  my  host. 

"  I  paid  especial  attention  to  a  large  writing-table  near 
which  he  sat,  and  upon  which  lay  confusedly  some  mis- 
cellaneous letters  and  other  papers,  with  one  or  two  musi- 
cal instruments  and  a  few  books.  Here,  however,  after 
a  long  and  very  deliberate  scrutiny,  I  saw  nothing  to  ex- 
cite particular  suspicion. 

"  At  length  my  eyes,  in  going  the  circuit  of  the  room, 
fell  upon  a  trumpery  filigree  card-rack 'of  paste-board, 
that  hung  dangling  by  a  dirty  blue  ribbon,  from  a  little 
brass  knob  just  beneath  the  middle  of  the  mantel-piece. 
In  this  rack,  which  had  three  or  four  compartments,  were 
five  or  six  visiting  cards  and  a  solitary  letter.  This  last 
was  much  soiled  and  crumpled.  It  was  torn  nearly  in 
two,  across  the  middle  —  as  if  a  design,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, to  tear  it  entirely  up  as  worthless,  had  been 
altered,  or  stayed,  in  the  second.  It  had  a  large  black 

seal,  bearing  the  D cipher  very  conspicuously,  and 

was  addressed,  in  a  diminutive  female  hand,  to  D , 

the  minister  himself.  It  was  thrust  carelessly,  and  even, 
as  it  seemed,  contemptuously,  into  one  of  the  uppermost 
divisions  of  the  rack. 

"  No  sooner  had  I  glanced  at  this  letter,  than  I  con- 
cluded it  to  be  that  of  which  I  was  in  search.  To  be 
sure,  it  was,  to  all  appearance,  radically  different  from 
the  one  of  which  the  Prefect  had  read  us  so  minute  a  de- 


go  Edgar  Allan   Poe 

scription.     Here  the  seal  was  large  and  black,  with  the 

D cipher ;  there  it  was  small  and  red,  with  the  ducal 

arms  of  the  S family.  Here  the  address,  to  the  min- 
ister, was  diminutive  and  feminine ;  there  the  superscrip- 
tion, to  a  certain  royal  personage,  was  markedly  bold  and 
decided ;  the  size  alone  formed  a  point  of  correspond- 
ence. But,  then,  the  radicalness  of  these  differences, 
which  was  excessive ;  the  dirt,  the  soiled  and  torn  condi- 
tion of  the  paper,  so  inconsistent  with  the  true  methodical 

habits  of  D ,  and  so  suggestive  of  a  design  to  delude 

the  beholder  into  an  idea  of  the  worthlessness  of  the 
document ;  these  things,  together  with  the  hyper-obtrusive 
situation  of  this  document,  full  in  the  view  of  every  visitor, 
and  thus  exactly  in  accordance  with  the  conclusions  to 
which  I  had  previously  arrived  —  these  things,  I  say,  were 
strongly  corroborative  of  suspicion,  in  one  who  came  with 
the  intention  to  suspect. 

"  I  protracted  my  visit  as  long  as  possible ;  and  while 
I  maintained  a  most  animated  discussion  with  the  minis- 
ter, upon  a  topic  which  I  knew  well  had  never  failed  to 
interest  and  excite  him,  I  kept  my  attention  really  riveted 
upon  the  letter.  In  this  examination,  I  committed  to 
memory  its  external  appearance  and  arrangement  in  the 
rack ;  and  also  fell,  at  length,  upon  a  discovery  which  set 
at  rest  whatever  trivial  doubt  I  might  have  entertained. 
In  scrutinizing  the  edges  of  the  paper,  I  observed  them 
to  be  more  chafed  than  seemed  necessary.  They  pre- 
sented the  broken  appearance  which  is  manifested  when 
a  stiff  paper,  having  been  once  folded  and  pressed  with 
a  folder,  is  refolded  in  a  reversed  direction,  in  the  same 
creases  or  edges  which  had  formed  the  original  fold. 
This  discovery  was  sufficient.  It  was  clear  to  me  that 
the  letter  had  been  turned,  as  a  glove,  inside  out,  re- 


The   Purloined   Letter  91 

directed,  and  re-sealed.  I  bade  the  minister  good-morn- 
ing, and  took  my  departure  at  once,  leaving  a  gold 
snuff-box  upon  the  table. 

"The  next  morning  I  called  for  the  snuff-box,  when 
we  resumed,  quite  eagerly,  the  conversation  of  the  pre- 
ceding day.  While  thus  engaged,  however,  a  loud  report, 
as  if  of  a  pistol,  was  heard  immediately  beneath  the  win- 
dows of  the  hotel,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  series  of  fear- 
ful screams,  and  the  shoutings  of  a  terrified  mob.  D — 
rushed  to  a  casement,  threw  it  open,  and  looked  out.  In 
the  meantime,  I  stepped  to  the  card-rack,  took  the  letter, 
put  it  in  my  pocket,  and  replaced  it  by  a  fac-simile  (so  far 
as  regards  externals)  which  I  had  carefully  prepared  at 

my   lodgings  —  imitating   the   D cipher    very  readily 

by  means  of  a  seal  formed  of  bread. 

"  The  disturbance  in  the  street  had  been  occasioned  by 
the  frantic  behavior  of  a  man  with  a  musket.  He  had 
fired  it  among  a  crowd  of  women  and  children.  It  proved, 
however,  to  have  been  without  ball,  and  the  fellow  was 
suffered  to  go  his  way  as  a  lunatic  or  a  drunkard.  When 

he  had  gone,  D came  from  the  window,  whither  I  had 

followed  him  immediately  upon  securing  the  object  in  view. 
Soon  afterward  I  bade  him  farewell.  The  pretended 
lunatic  was  a  man  in  my  own  pay." 

"  But  what  purpose  had  you,"  I  asked,  "  in  replacing 
the  letter  by  a  fac-simile  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  better, 
at  the  first  visit,  to  have  seized  it  openly,  and  departed  ?  " 

"D /'replied  Dupin,  "is  a  desperate  man,  and  a 

man  of  nerve.  His  hotel,  too,  is  not  without  attendants 
devoted  to  his  interest.  Had  I  made  the  wild  attempt 
you  suggest,  I  might  never  have  left  the  ministerial  pres- 
ence alive.  The  good  people  of  Paris  might  have  heard 
of  me  no  more.  But  I  had  an  object  apart  from  these 


92  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

considerations.  You  know  my  political  prepossessions. 
In  this  matter  I  act  as  a  partisan  of  the'  lady  concerned. 
For  eighteen  months  the  minister  has  had  her  in  his 
power.  She  has  now  him  in  hers  —  since,  being  unaware 
that  the  letter  is  not  in  his  possession,  he  will  proceed 
with  his  exactions  as  if  it  was.  Thus  will  he  inevitably 
commit  himself,  at  once,  to  his  political  destruction.  His 
downfall,  too,  will  not  be  more  precipitate  than  awkward. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  about  ihefaatis  descensus  Aver  HI  ; 
but  in  all  kinds  of  climbing,  as  Catalani  said  of  singing,  it 
is  far  more  easy  to  get  up  than  to  come  down.  In  the 
present  instance  I  have  no  sympathy  —  at  least  no  pity  — 
for  him  who  descends.  He  is  that  monstrum  horrendum, 
an  unprincipled  man  of  genius.  I  confess,  however,  that 
I  should  like  very  well  to  know  the  precise  character  of 
his  thoughts,  when,  being  defied  by  her  whom  the  Prefect 
terms  'a  certain  personage,'  he  is  reduced  to  opening  the 
letter  which  I  left  for  him  in  the  card-rack." 

"  How ?  did  you  put  anything  particular  in  it?  " 

"  Why,  it  did  not  seem   altogether   right  to   leave  the 

interior  blank  —  that  would  have  been  insulting,     D , 

at  Vienna  once,  did  me  an  evil  turn,  which  I  told  him, 
quite  good-humoredly,  that  I  should  remember.  So,  as  I 
knew  he  would  feel  some  curiosity  in  regard  to  the  identity 
of  the  person  who  had  outwitted  him,  I  thought  it  a  pity 
not  to  give  him  a  clew.  He  is  well  acquainted  with  my 
MS. ;  and  I  just  copied  into  the  middle  of  the  blank  sheet 
the  w(3rds  — 

"  « Un  dessein  sifuneste, 

S*il  rfest  digne  d*Atree,  est  digne  de  Thyeste? 

They  are  to  be  found  in  Cre"billon's  Atree" 


HAWTHORNC 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE 

One  afternoon,  last  summer,  while  walking  along  Wash- 
ington Street,  my  eye  was  attracted  by  a  signboard  pro- 
truding over  a  narrow  archway,  nearly  opposite  the  Old 
South  Church.  The  sign  represented  the  front  of  a 
stately  edifice,  which  was  designated  as  the  "  OLFA  PROV- 
INCE HOUSE,  kept  by  Thomas  Waite."  I  was  glad  to  be 
thus  reminded  of  a  purpose,  long  entertained,  of  visiting 
and  rambling  over  the  mansion  of  the  old  royal  governors 
of  Massachusetts ;  and  entering  the  arched  passage, 
which  penetrated  through  the  middle  of  a  brick  row  of 
shops,  a  few  steps  transported  me  from  the  busy  heart  of 
modern  Boston  into  a  small  and  secluded  court-yard.  One 
side  of  this  space  was  occupied  by  the  square  front  of  the 
Province  House,  three  stories  high,  and  surmounted  by  a 
cupola,  on  the  top  of  which  a  gilded  Indian  was  discerni- 
ble, with  his  bow  bent  and  his  arrow  on  the  string,  as  if 
aiming  at  the  weathercock  on  the  spire  of  the  Old  South. 
The  figure  has  kept  this  attitude  for  seventy  years  or  more, 
ever  since  good  Deacon  Drown e,  a  cunning  carver  of 
wood,  first  stationed  him  on  his  long  sentinel's  watch  over 
the  city. 

The  Province  House  is  constructed  of  brick,  which 
seems  recently  to  have  been  overlaid  with  a  coat  of  light- 
colored  paint.  A  flight  of  red  freestone  steps,  fenced  in 
by  a  balustrade  of  curiously  wrought  iron,  ascends  from 
the  court-yard  to  the  spacious  porch,  over  which  is  a  bal- 
cony, with  an  iron  balustrade  of  similar  pattern  and  work- 

93 


94  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

manship  to  that  beneath.  These  letters  and  figures  — 
1 6  P.  S.  79  —  are  wrought  into  the  iron  work  of  the  bal- 
cony, and  probably  express  the  date  of  the  edifice,  with 
the  initials  of  its  founder's  name.  A  wide  door  with 
double  leaves  admitted  me  into  the  hall  or  entry,  on  the 
right  of  which  is  the  entrance  to  the  bar-room. 

It  was  in  this  apartment,  I  presume,  that  the  ancient 
governors  held  their  levees,  with  vice-regal  pomp,  sur 
rounded  by  the  military  men,  the  councillors,  the  judges, 
and  other  officers  of  the  crown,  while  all  the  loyalty  of  the 
province  thronged  to  do  them  honor.  But  the  room,  in  its 
present  condition,  cannot  boast  even  of  faded  magnificence. 
The  panelled  wainscot  is  covered  with  dingy  paint,  and 
acquires  a  duskier  hue  from  the  deep  shadow  into  which 
the  Province  House  is  thrown  by  the  brick  block  that  shuts 
it  in  from  Washington  Street.  A  ray  of  sunshine  never 
visits  this  apartment  any  more  than  the  glare  of  the  festal 
torches,  which  have  been  extinguished  from  the  era  of  the 
Revolution.  The  most  venerable  and  ornamental  object 
is  a  chimney-piece  set  round  with  Dutch  tiles  of  blue- 
figured  China,  representing  scenes  from  Scripture ;  and, 
for  aught  I  know,  the  lady  of  Pownall  or  Bernard  may. 
have  sat  beside  this  fire-place,  and  told  her  children  the 
story  of  each  blue  tile.  A  bar  in  modern  style,  well 
replenished  with  decanters,  bottles,  cigar  boxes,  and  net- 
work bags  of  lemons,  and  provided  with  a  beer  pump  and 
a  soda  fount,  extends  along  one  side  of  the  room.  At  my 
entrance,  an  elderly  person  was  smacking  his  lips  with  a 
zest  which  satisfied  me  that  the  cellars  of  the  Province 
House  still  hold  good  liquor,  though  doubtless  of  other 
vintages  than  were  quaffed  by  the  old  governors.  After 
sipping  a  glass  of  port  sangaree,  prepared  by  the  skilful 
hands  of  Mr.  Thomas  Waite,  I  besought  that  worthy  sue- 


Howe's   Masquerade  95 

cessor  and  representative  of  so  many  historic  personages 
to  conduct  me  over  their  time  honored  mansion. 

He  readily  complied  ;  but,  to  confess  the  truth,  I  was 
forced  to  draw  strenuously  upon  my  imagination,  in  order 
to  find  aught  that  was  interesting  in  a  house  which,  with- 
out its  historic  associations,  would  have  seemed  merely 
such  a  tavern  as  is  usually  favored  by  the  custom  of 
decent  city  boarders,  and  old-fashioned  country  gentle- 
men. The  chambers,  which  were  probably  spacious  in 
former  times,  are  now  cut  up  by  partitions,  and  sub- 
divided into  little  nooks,  each  affording  scanty  room  for 
the  narrow  bed  and  chair  and  dressing-table  of  a  single 
lodger.  The  great  staircase,  however,  may  be  termed, 
without  much  hyperbole,  a  feature  of  grandeur  and  mag- 
nificence. It  winds  through  the  midst  of  the  house  by 
flights  of  broad  steps,  each  flight  terminating  in  a  square 
landing-place,  whence  the  ascent  is  continued  towards  the 
cupola.  A  carved  balustrade,  freshly  painted  in  the  lower 
stories,  but  growing'  dingier  as  we  ascend,  borders  the 
staircase  with  its  quaintly  twisted  and  intertwined  pillars, 
from  top  to  bottom.  Up  these  stairs  the  military  boots, 
or  perchance  the  gouty  shoes,  of  many  a  governor  have 
trodden,  as  the  wearers  mounted  to  the  cupola,  which 
afforded  them  so  wide  a  view  over  their  metropolis  and  the 
surrounding  country.  The  cupola  is  an  octagon,  with  sev- 
eral windows,  and  a  door  opening  upon  the  roof.  From 
this  station,  as  I  pleased  myself  with  imagining,  Gage  may 
have  beheld  his  disastrous  victory  on  Bunker  Hill  (unless 
one  of  the  tri-mountains  intervened),  and  Howe  have 
marked  the  approaches  of  Washington's  besieging  army; 
although  the  buildings  since  erected  in  the  vicinity  have 
shut  out  almost  every  object,  save  the  steeple  of  the  Old 
South,  which  seems  almost  within  arm's  length.  Descend- 


96  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

ing  from  the  cupola,  I  paused  in  the  garret  to  observe  the 
ponderous  white-oak  framework,  so  much  more  massive 
than  the  frames  of  modern  houses,  and  thereby  resembling 
an  antique  skeleton.  The  brick  walls,  the  materials  of 
which  were  imported  from  Holland,  and  the  timbers  of 
the  mansion,  are  still  as  sound  as  ever ;  but  the  floors  and 
other  interior  parts  being  greatly  decayed,  it  is  contem- 
plated to  gut  the  whole,  and  build  a  new  house  within  the 
ancient  frame  and  brick  work.  Among  other  inconven- 
iences of  the  present  edifice,  mine  host  mentioned  that 
any  jar  or  motion  was  apt  to  shake  down  the  dust  of  ages 
out  of  the  ceiling  of  one  chamber  upon  the  floor  of  that 
beneath  it. 

We  stepped  forth  from  the  great  front  window  into  the 
balcony,  where,  in  old  times,  it  was  doubtless  the  custom 
of  the  king's  representative  to  show  himself  to  a  loyal 
populace,  requiting  their  huzzas  and  tossed-up  hats  with 
stately  bendings  of  his  dignified  person.  In  those  days 
the  front  of  the  Province  House  looked  upon  the  street ; 
and  the  whole  site  now  occupied  by  the  brick  range  of 
stores,  as  well  as  the  present  court-yard,  was  laid  out  in 
grass  plats,  overshadowed  by  trees  and  bordered  by  a 
wrought-iron  fence.  Now,  the  old  aristocratic  edifice  hides 
its  time-worn  visage  behind  an  upstart  modern  building ; 
at  one  of  the  back  windows  I  observed  some  pretty  tailor- 
esses,  sewing  and  chatting  and  laughing,  with  now  and 
then  a  careless  glance  towards  the  balcony.  Descending 
thence,  we  again  entered  the  bar-room,  where  the  elderly 
gentleman  above  mentioned,  the  smack  of  whose  lips  had 
spoken  so  favorably  for  Mr.  Waite's  good  liquor,  was  still 
lounging  in  his  chair.  He  seemed  to  be,  if  not  a  lodger, 
at  least  a  familiar  visitor  of  the  house,  who  might  be  sup- 
posed to  have  his  regular  score  at  the  bar,  his  summer 


Howe's   Masquerade  97 

seat  at  the  open  window,  and  his  prescriptive  corner  at 
the  winter's  fireside.  Being  of  a  sociable  aspect,  I  ven- 
tured to  address  him  with  a  remark  calculated  to  draw 
forth  his  historical  reminiscences,  if  any  such  were  in  his 
mind ;  and  it  gratified  me  to  discover,  that,  between  mem- 
ory and  tradition,  the  old  gentleman  was  really  possessed 
of  some  very  pleasant  gossip  about  the  Province  House. 
The  portion  of  his  talk  which  chiefly  interested  me  was  the 
outline  of  the  following  legend.  He  professed  to  have 
received  it  at  one  or  two  removes  from  an  eye-witness ; 
but  this  derivation,  together  with  the  lapse  of  time,  must 
have  afforded  opportunities  for  many  variations  of  the 
narrative  ;  so  that  despairing  of  literal  and  absolute  truth, 
I  have  not  scrupled  to  make  such  further  changes  as 
seemed  conducive  to  the  reader's  profit  and  delight. 


At  one  of  the  entertainments  given  at  the  Province 
House,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  siege  of  Boston,  there 
passed  a  scene  which  has  never  yet  been  satisfactorily 
explained.  The  officers  of  the  British  army,  and  the 
loyal  gentry  of  the  province,  most  of  whom  were  collected 
within  the  beleaguered  town,  had  been  invited  to  a 
masked  ball ;  for  it  was  the  policy  of  Sir  William  Howe 
to  hide  the  distress  and  danger -of  the  period,  and  the 
desperate  aspect  of  the  siege,  under  an  ostentation  of 
festivity.  x  The  spectacle  of  this  evening,  if  the  oldest 
members  of  the  provincial  court  circle  might  be  believed, 
was  the  most  gay  and  gorgeous  affair  that  had  occurred 
in  the  annals  of  the  government.  The  brilliantly-lighted 
apartments  were  thronged  with  figures  that  seemed  to 
have  stepped  from  the  dark  canvas  of  historic  portraits, 
or  to  have  flitted  forth  from  the  magic  pages  of  romance, 


98  Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

or  at  least  to  have  flown  hither  from  one  of  the  London 
theatres,  without  a  change  of  garments.  Steeled  knights 
of  the  Conquest,  bearded  statesmen. of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
and  high-ruffled  ladies  of  her  court,  were  mingled  with 
characters  of  comedy,  such  as  a  party-colored  Merry 
Andrew,  jingling  his  cap  and  bells  ;  a  Falstaff,  almost  as 
provocative  of  laughter  as  his  prototype ;  and  a  Don 
Quixote,  with  a  bean  pole  for  a  lance,  and  a  pot  iid  for 
a  shield. 

But  the  broadest  merriment  was  excited  by  a  group  oi 
figures  ridiculously  dressed  in  old  regimentals,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  purchased  at  a  military  rag  fair,  01 
pilfered  from  some  receptacle  of  the  cast-off  clothes  ol 
both  the  French  and  British  armies.  Portions  of  theii 
attire  had  probably  been  worn  at  the  siege  of  Louis- 
burg,  and  the  coats  of  most  recent  cut  might  have  beer 
rent  and  tattered  by  sword,  ball,  or  bayonet,  as  long  age 
as  Wolfe's  victory.  One  of  these  worthies  —  a  tall,  lank 
figure,  brandishing  a  rusty  sword  of  immense  longitude  — 
purported  to  be  no  less  a  personage  than  General  George 
Washington  ;  and  the  other  principal  officers  of  the  Ameri- 
can army,  such  as  Gates,  Lee,  Putnam,  Schuyler,  Ward  and 
Heath,  were  represented  by  similar  scarecrows.  An  in- 
terview in  the  mock  heroic  style,  between  the  rebel  war- 
riors and  the  British  commander-in-chief,  was  received 
with  immense  applause,  which  came  loudest  of  all  from 
the  loyalists  of  the  colony.  There  was  one  of  the  guests, 
however,  who  stood  apart,  eyeing  these  antics  stern1/  and 
scornfully,  at  once  with  a  frown  and  a  bitter  smile. 

It  was  an  old  man,  formerly  of  high  station  and  greal 
repute  in  the  province,  and  who  had  been  a  very  famous 
soldier  in  his  day.  Some  surprise  had  been  expressed 
that  a  person  of  Colonel  Joliffe's  known  whig  principles, 


Howe's   Masquerade  99 

though  now  too  old  to  take  an  active  part  in  the  contest, 
shoitld  have  remained  in  Boston  during  the  siege,  and 
especially  that  he  should  consent  to  show  himself  in  the 
mansion  of  Sir  William  Howe.  But  thither  he  had  come, 
with  a  fair  granddaughter  under  his  arm ;  and  there, 
amid  all  the  mirth  and  buffoonery,  stood  this  stern  old 
figure,  the  best  sustained  character  in  the  masquerade, 
because  so  well  representing  the  antique  spirit  of  his 
native  land.  The  other  guests  affirmed  that  Colonel  Jo- 
liffe's  black  puritanical  scowl  threw  a  shadow  round  about 
him ;  although  in  spite  of  his  sombre  influence  their 
gayety  continued  to  blaze  higher,  like  —  (an  ominous 
comparison)  —  the  flickering  brilliancy  of  a  lamp  which 
has  but  a  little  while  to  burn.  Eleven  strokes,  full  half 
an  hour  ago,  had  pealed  from  the  clock  of  the  Old  South, 
when  a  rumor  was  circulated  among  the  company  that 
some  new  spectacle  or  pageant  was  about  to  be  exhibited, 
which  should  put  a  fitting  close  to  the  splendid  festivities 
of  the  night. 

"  What  new  jest  has  your  Excellency  in  hand  ?  "  asked 
the  Rev.  Mather  Byles,  whose  Presbyterian  scruples  had 
not  kept  him  from  the  entertainment.  "Trust  me,  sir,  I 
have  already  laughed  more  than  beseems  my  cloth  at 
your  Homeric  confabulation  with  yonder  ragamuffin 
General  of  the  rebels.  One  other  such  fit  of  merriment, 
and  I  must  throw  off  my  clerical  wig  and  band." 

"  Not  so,  good  Doctor  Byles,"  answered  Sir  William 
Howe ;  "  if  mirth  were  a  crime,  you  had  never  gained 
your  doctorate  in  divinity.  As  to  this  new  foolery,  I 
know  no  more  about  it  than  yourself;  perhaps  not  so 
.  much.  Honestly  now,  Doctor,  have  you  not  stirred  up 
the  sober  brains  of  some  of  your  countrymen  to  enact  a 
scene  in  bur  masquerade  ?  " 


ioo  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

"  Perhaps,"  slyly  remarked  the  granddaughter  of 
Colonel  Joliffe,  whose  high  spirit  had  been  stung  by  many 
taunts  against  New  England,  —  "perhaps  we  are  to  have 
a  mask  of  allegorical  figures.  Victory,  with  trophies  from 
Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill  —  Plenty,  with  her  overflow- 
ing horn,  to  typify  the  present  abundance  in  this  good 
town  —  and  Glory,  with  a  wreath  for  his  Excellency's 
brow." 

Sir  William  Howe  smiled  at  words  which  he  would 
have  answered  with  one  of  his  darkest  frowns  had  they 
been  uttered  by  lips  that  wore  a  beard.  He  was  spared 
the  necessity  of  a  retort,  by  a  singular  interruption.  A 
sound  of  music  was  heard  without  the  house,  as  if  pro- 
ceeding from  a  full  band  of  military  instruments  stationed 
in  the  street,  playing  not  such  a  festal  strain  as  was  suited 
to  the  occasion,  but  a  slow  funeral  march.  The  drums 
appeared  to  be  muffled,  and  the  trumpets  poured  forth  a 
wailing  breath,  which  at  once  hushed  the  merriment  of 
the  auditors,  filling  all  with  wonder,  and  some  with  ap- 
prehension. The  idea  occurred  to  many  that  either  the 
funeral  procession  of  some  great  personage  had  halted  in 
front  of  the  Province  House,  or  that  a  corpse,  in  a  velvet- 
covered  and  gorgeously-decorated  coffin,  was  about  to  be 
borne  from  the  portal.  After  listening  a  moment,  Sir 
William  Howe  called,  in  a  stern  voice,  to  the  leader  of 
the  musicians,  who,  had  hitherto  enlivened  the  entertain- 
ment with  gay  and  lightsome  melodies.  The  man  was 
drum-major  to  one  of  the  British  regiments. 

"  Dighton,"  demanded  the  General,  "  what  means  this 
foolery?  Bid  your  band  silence  that  dead  march  —  or, 
by  my  word,  they  shall  have  sufficient  cause  for  their 
lugubrious  strains  !  Silence  it,  sirrah  !  " 

"  Please  your  honor,"  answered  the  drum-major,  whose 


Howe's   Masquerade  101 

rubicund  visage  had  lost  all  its  color,  "  the  fault  is  none 
of  mine.  I  and  my  band  are  all  here  together,  and  I 
question  whether  there  be  a  man  of  us  that  could  play 
that  march  without  book.  I  never  heard  it  but  once 
before,  and  that  was  at  the  funeral  of  his  late  Majesty, 
King  George  the  Second." 

"Well,  well!"  said  Sir  William  Howe,  recovering  his 
composure  —  ".it  is  the  prelude  to  some  masquerading 
antic.  Let  it  pass." 

A  figure  now  presented  itself,  but  among  the  many 
fantastic  masks  that  were  dispersed  through  the  apart- 
ments none  could  tell  precisely  from  whence  it  came. 
It  was  a  man  in  an  old-fashioned  dress  of  black  serge, 
and  having  the  aspect  of  a  steward  or  principal  domestic 
in  the  household  of  a  nobleman  or  great  English  land- 
holder. This  figure  advanced  to  the  outer  door  of  the 
mansion,  and  throwing  both  its  leaves  wide  open,  with- 
drew a  little  to  one  side  and  looked  back  towards  the 
grand  staircase  as  if  expecting  some  person  to  descend. 
At  the  same  time  the  music  in  the  street  sounded  a  loud 
and  doleful  summons.  The  eyes  of  Sir  William  Howe 
and  his  guests  being  directed  to  the  "staircase,  there  ap- 
peared, on  the  uppermost  landing-place  that  was  discern- 
ible from  the  bottom,  several  personages  descending 
towards  the  door.  The  foremost  was  a  man  of  stern 
visage,  wearing  a  steeple-crowned  hat  and  a  skull-cap 
beneath  it ;  a  dark  cloak,  and  huge  wrinkled  boots  that 
came  half-way  up  his  legs.  Under  his  arm  was  a  rolled-up 
banner,  which  seemed  to  be  the  banner  of  England,  but 
strangely  rent  and  torn ;  he  had  a  sword  in  his  right 
hand,  and  grasped  a  Bible  in  his  left.  The  next  figure 
was  of  milder  aspect,  yet  full  of  dignity,  wearing  a  broad 
ruff,  over  which  descended  a  beard,  a  gown  of  wrought 


Nathaniel   Hawthorne 


velvet,  and  a  doublet  and  hose  of  black  satin.  He  car- 
ried a  roll  of  manuscript  in  his  hand.  Close  behind  these 
two  came  a  young  man  of  very  striking  countenance  and 
demeanor,  with  deep  thought  and  contemplation  on  his 
brow,  and  perhaps  a  flash  of  enthusiasm  in  his  eye.  His 
garb,  like  that  of  his  predecessors,  was  of  an  antique 
fashion,  and  there  was  a  stain  of  blood  upon  his  ruff.  In 
the  same  group  with  these  were  three  or  four  others,  all 
men  of  dignity  and  evident  command,  and  bearing  them- 
selves like  personages  who  were  accustomed  to  the  gaze 
of  the  multitude.  It  was  the  idea  of  the  beholders  that 
these  figures  went  to  join  the  mysterious  funeral  that  had 
halted  in  front  of  the  Province  House  ;  yet  that  supposi- 
tion seemed  to  be  contradicted  by  the  air  of  triumph  with 
which  they  waved  their  hands,  as  they  crossed  the  thresh- 
old and  vanished  through  the  portal. 

"In  the  devil's  name  what  is  this?"  muttered  Sir 
William  Howe  to  a  gentleman  beside  him  ;  "  a  procession 
of  the  regicide  judges  of  King  Charles  the  martyr?  " 

"  These,'7  said  Colonel  Joliffe,  breaking  silence  almost 
for  the  first  time  that  evening,  —  "these,  if  I  interpret 
them  aright,  are  the  Puritan  governors  —  the  rulers  of 
the  old  original  Democracy  of  Massachusetts.  Endicott, 
with  the  banner  from  which  he  had  torn  the  symbol  of 
subjection,  and  Winthrop,  and  Sir  Henry  Vane,  and 
Dudley,  Haynes,  Bellingham,  and  Leverett." 

"  Why  had  that  young  man  a  stain  of  blood  upon  his 
ruff  ?  "  asked  Miss  Joliffe. 

"  Because,  in  after  years,"  answered  her  grandfather, 
"  he  laid  down  the  wisest  head  in  England  upon  the  block 
for  the  principles  of  liberty." 

"  Will  not  your  Excellency  order  out  the  guard  ?  "  whis- 
pered Lord  Percy,  who,  with  other  British  officers,  had 


Howe's    Masquerade  103 

now  assembled  round  the  General.  "  There  may  be  a 
plot  under  this  mummery." 

"  Tush !  we  have  nothing  to  fear,"  carelessly  replied 
Sir  William  Howe.  "  There  can  be  no  worse  treason  in 
the  matter  than  a  jest,  and  that  somewhat  of  the  dullest. 
Even  were  it  a  sharp  and  bitter  one,  our  best  policy  would 
be  to  laugh  it  off.  See  —  here  comes  more  of  these 
gentry." 

Another  group  of  characters  had  now  partly  descended 
the  staircase.  The  first  was  a  venerable  and  white-bearded 
patriarch,  who  cautiously  felt  his  way  downward  with  a 
staff.  Treading  hastily  behind  him,  and  stretching  forth 
his  gauntleted  hand  as  if  to  grasp  the  old  man's  shoulder, 
came  a  tall,  soldier-like  figure,  equipped  with  a  plumed 
cap  of  steel,  a  bright  breast-plate,  and  a  long  sword,  which 
rattled  against  the  stairs.  Next  was  seen  a  stout  man, 
dressed  in  rich  and  courtly  attire,  but  not  of  courtly  de- 
meanor;  his  gait  had  the  swinging  motion  of  a  seaman's 
walk ;  and  chancing  to  stumble  on  the  staircase,  he  sud- 
denly grew  wrathful,  and  was  heard  to  mutter  an  oath. 
He  was  followed  by  a  noble-looking  personage  in  a  curled 
wig,  such  as  are  represented  in  the  portraits  of  Queen 
Anne's  time  and  earlier  ;  and  the  breast  of  his  coat  was 
decorated  with  an  embroidered  star.  While  advancing* to 
the  door,  he  bowed  to  the  right  hand  and  to  the  left,  in  a 
very  gracious  and  insinuating  style;  but  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold,  unlike  the  early  Puritan  governors,  he  seemed 
to  wring  his  hands  with  sorrow. 

"  Prithee,  play  the  part  of  a  chorus,  good  Doctor  Byles," 
said  Sir  William  Howe.  "  What  worthies  are  these  ?  " 

"  If  it  please  your  Excellency  they  lived  somewhat 
before  my  day,"  answered  the  doctor;  "  but  doubtless  our 
friend,  the  Colonel,  has  been  hand  and  glove  with  them." 


IO4  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

"  Their  living  faces  I  never  looked  upon,"  said  Colone 
Joliffe,  gravely ;  "  although  I  have  spoken  face  to  face 
with  many  rulers  of  this  land,  and  shall  greet  yet  another 
with  an  old  man's  blessing  ere  I  die.  But  we  talk  of  these 
figures.  I  take  the  venerable  patriarch  to  be  Bradstreet, 
the  last  of  the  Puritans,  who  was  governor  at  ninety,  or 
thereabouts.  The  next  is  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  a  tyrant, 
as  any  New  England  school-boy  will  tell  you  ;  and  there- 
fore the  people  cast  him  down  from  his  high  seat  into  a 
dungeon.  Then  comes  Sir  William  Phipps,  shepherd, 
cooper,  sea-captain,  and  governor  —  may  many  of  his 
countrymen  rise  as  high  from  as  low  an  origin  !  Lastly, 
you  saw  the  gracious  Earl  of  Bellamont,  who  ruled  us 
under  King  William/ ' 

"  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  it  all  ? "  asked  Lord 
Percy. 

"  Now,  were  I  a  rebel,"  said  Miss  JolifTe,  half  aloud, 
"  I  might  fancy  that  the  ghosts  of  these  ancient  governors 
had  been  summoned  to  form  the  funeral  procession  of 
royal  authority  in  New  England." 

Several  other  figures  were  now  seen  at  the  turn  of  the 
staircase.  The  one  in  advance  had  a  thoughtful,  anxious, 
and  somewhat  crafty  expression  of  face,  and  in  spite  of  his 
loftiness  of  manner,  which  was  evidently  the  result  both  of 
an  ambitious  spirit  and  of  long  continuance  in  high  sta- 
tions, he  seemed  not  incapable  of  cringing  to  a  greater  than 
himself.  A  few  steps  behind  came  an  officer  in  a  scarlet 
and  embroidered  uniform,  cut  in  a  fashion  old  enough  to 
have  been  worn  by  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  His  nose 
had  a  rubicund  tinge,  which,  together  with  the  twinkle  of 
his  eye,  might  have  marked  him  as  a  lover  of  the  wine  cup 
and  good  fellowship;  notwithstanding  which  tokens  he 
appeared  ill  at  ease,  and  often  glanced  around  him  as  if 


Howe's   Masquerade  105 

'apprehensive  of  some  secret  mischief.  Next  came  a  portly 
gentleman,  wearing  a  coat  of  shaggy  cloth,  lined  with 
silken  velvet ;  he  had  sense,  shrewdness,  and  humor  in  his 
face,  and  a  folio  volume  under  his  arm ;  but  his  aspect  was 
that  of  a  man  vexed  and  tormented  beyond  all  patience, 
and  harassed  almost  to  death.  He  went  hastily  down, 
and  was  followed  by  a  dignified  person,  dressed  in  a  pur- 
ple velvet  suit,  with  very  rich  embroidery ;  his  demeanor 
would  have  possessed  much  stateliness,  only  that  a  griev- 
ous fit  of  the  gout  compelled  him  to  hobble  from  stair  to 
stair,  with  contortions  of  face  and  body.  When  Doctor 
Byles  beheld  this  figure  on  the  staircase,  he  shivered  as 
with  an  ague,  but  continued  to  watch  him  steadfastly,  until 
the  gouty  gentleman  had  reached  the  threshold,  made  a 
gesture  of  anguish  and  despair,  and  vanished  into  the 
outer  gloom,  whither  the  funeral  music  summoned  him. 

"  Governor  Belcher  !  —  my  old  patron  !  —  in  his  very 
shape  and  dress!"  gasped  Doctor  Byles.  "This  is  an 
awful  mockery !  " 

"A  tedious  foolery,  rather,"  said  Sir  William  Howe, 
with  an  air  of  indifference.  "But  who  were  the  three 
that  preceded  him  ?  " 

"  Governor  Dudley,  a  cunning  politician  —  yet  his  craft 
once  brought  him  to  a  prison,"  replied  Colonel  Joliffe. 
"  Governor  Shute,  formerly  a  Colonel  under  Marlborough, 
and  whom  the  people  frightened  out  of  the  province  ;  and 
learned  Governor  Burnet,  whom  the  legislature  tormented 
into  a  mortal  fever." 

"  Me  thinks  they  were  miserable  men,  these  royal  gov- 
ernors of  Massachusetts,"  observed  Miss  Joliffe.  "  Heav- 
ens, how  dim  the  light  grows  !  " 

It  was  certainly  a  fact  that  the  large  lamp  which  illu- 
minated the  staircase  now  burned  dim  and  duskily  :  so 


106  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

that  several  figures,  which  passed  hastily  down  the  stairs 
and  went  forth  from  the  porch,  appeared  rather  like 
shadows  than  persons  of  fleshly  substance.  Sir  William 
Howe  and  his  guests  stood  at  the  doors  of  the  contiguous 
apartments,  watching  the  progress  of  this  singular  pag- 
eant, with  various  emotions  of  anger,  contempt,  or  half- 
acknowledged  fear,  but  still  with  an  anxious  curiosity. 
The  shapes  which  now  seemed  hastening  to  join  the 
mysterious  procession  were  recognized  rather  by  striking 
peculiarities  of  dress,  of  broad  characteristics  of  manner, 
than  by  any  perceptible  resemblance  of  features  to  their 
prototypes.  Their  faces,  indeed,  were  invariably  kept  in 
deep  shadow.  But  Doctor  Byles,  and"  other  gentlemen 
who  had  long  been  familiar  with  the  successive  rulers  of 
the  province,  were  heard  to  whisper  the  names  of  Shirley, 
of  Pownall,  of  Sir  Francis  Bernard,  and  of  the  well- 
remembered  Hutchinson ;  thereby  confessing  that  the 
actors,  whoever  they  might  be,  in  this  spectral  march  of 
governors,  had  succeeded  in  putting  on  some  distant  por- 
traiture of  the  real  personages.  As  they  vanished  from 
the  door,  still  did  these  shadows  toss  their  arms  into  the 
gloom  of  night,  with  a  dread  expression  of  woe.  Following 
the  mimic  representative  of  Hutehinson  came  a  military 
figure,  holding  before  his  face  the  cocked  hat  which  he 
had  taken  from  his  powdered  head ;  but  his  epaulettes 
and  other  insignia  of  rank  were  those  of  a  general  officer, 
and  something  in  his  mien  reminded  the  beholders  of  one 
who  had  recently  been  master  of  the  Province  House,  and 
chief  of  all  the  land. 

"  The  shape  of  Gage,  as  true  as  in  a  looking-glass/' 
exclaimed  Lord  Percy,  turning  pale. 

"No,  surely,"  cried  Miss  JolifTe,  laughing  hysterically; 
"  it  could  not  be  Gage,  or  Sir  William  would  have  greeted 


Howe's   Masquerade  107 

his  old  comrade  in  arms !  Perhaps  he  will  not  suffer  the 
next  to  pass  unchallenged." 

"  Of  that  be  assured,  young  lady,"  answered  Sir  William 
Howe,  fixing  his  eyes,  with  a  very  marked  expression,  upon 
the  immovable  visage  of  her  grandfather.  "  I  have  long 
enough  delayed  to  pay  the  ceremonies  of  a  host  to  these 
departing  guests.  The  next  that  takes  his  leave  shall 
receive  due  courtesy." 

A  wild  and  dreary  burst  of  music  came  through  the 
open  door.  It  seemed  as  if  the  procession,  which  had 
been  gradually  filling  up  its  ranks,  were  now  about  to 
move,  and  that  this  loud  peal  of  the  wailing  trumpets,  and 
roll  of  the  muffled  drums,  were  a  call  to  some  loiterer  to 
make  haste.  Many  eyes,  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  were 
turned  upon  Sir  William  Howe,  as  if  it  were  he  whom  the 
dreary  music  summoned  to  the  funeral  of  the  departed 
power. 

"  See!  —  here  comes  the  last!5'  whispered  Miss  Joliffe, 
pointing  her  tremulous  finger  to  the  staircase. 

A  figure  had  come  into  view  as  if  descending  the  stairs ; 
although  so  dusky  was  the  region  whence  it  emerged, 
some  of  the  spectators  fancied  that  they  had  seen  this 
human  shape  suddenly  moulding  itself  amid  the  gloom. 
Downward  the  figure  came,  with  a  stately  and  martial 
tread,  and  reaching  the  lowest  stair  was  observed  to  be  a 
tall  man,  booted  and  wrapped  in  a  military  cloak,  which 
was  drawn  up  around  the  face  so  as  to  meet  the  flapped 
brim  of  a  laced  hat.  The  features,  therefore,  were  com- 
pletely hidden.  But  the  British  officers  deemed  that  they 
had  seen  that  military  cloak  before*,  and  even  recognized 
the  frayed  embroidery  on  the  collar,  as  well  as  the  gilded 
scabbard  of  a  sword  which  protruded  from  the  folds  of  the 

3ak,  and  glittered  in  a  vivid  gleam  of  light.     Apart  from 


io8  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

these  trifling  particulars,  there  were  characteristics  of  gait 
and  bearing  which  impelled  the  wondering  guests  to  glance 
from  the  shrouded  figure  to  Sir  William  Howe,  as  if  to 
satisfy  themselves  that  their  host  had  not  suddenly  van- 
ished from  the  midst  of  them. 

With  a  dark  flush  of  wrath  upon  his  brow  they  saw  the 
General  draw  his  sword  and  advance  to  meet  the  figure  in 
the  cloak  before  the  latter  had  stepped  one  pace  upon  the 
floor. 

"  Villain,  unmuffle  yourself  1  "  cried  he.  "  You  pass  no 
farther !  " 

The  figure,  without  blenching  a  hair's  breadth  from  the 
sword  which  was  pointed  at  his  breast,  made  a  solemn 
pause  and  lowered  the  cape  of  the  cloak  from  about  his 
face,  yet  not  sufficiently  for  the  spectators  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  it.  But  Sir  William  Howe  had  evidently  seen 
enough.  The  sternness  of  his  countenance  gave  place  to 
a  look  of  wild  amazement,  if  not  horror,  while  he  recoiled 
several  steps  from  the  figure,  and  let  fall  his  sword  upon 
the  floor.  The  martial  shape  again  drew  the  cloak  about 
his  features  and  passed  on  ;  but  reaching  the  threshold, 
with  his  back  towards  the  spectators,  he  was  seen  to  stamp 
his  foot  and  shake  his  clinched  hands  in  the  air.  It  was 
afterwards  affirmed  that  Sir  William  Howe  had  repeated 
that  selfsame  gesture  of  rage  and  sorrow,  when,  for  the  last 
time,  and  as  the  last  royal  governor,  he  passed  through 
the  portal  of  the  Province  House. 

"  Hark  1  —  the  procession  moves,"  said  Miss  Jolifle. 

The  music  was  dying  away  along  the  street,  and  its 
dismal  strains  were  mingled  with  the  knell  of  mid- 
night from  the  steeple  of  the  Old  South,  and  with  the 
roar  of  artillery,  which  announced  that  the  beleaguer- 
ing army  of  Washington  had  intrenched  itself  upon 


Howe's   Masquerade  109 

a  nearer  height  than  before.  As  the  deep  boom  of  the 
cannon  smote  upon  his  ear,  Colonel  Joliffe  raised  him- 
self to  the  full  height  of  his  aged  form,  and  smiled 
sternly  on  the  British  General. 

"  Would  ycrar  Excellency  inquire  further  into  the 
mystery  of  the  pageant  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Take  care  of  your  gray  head !  "  cried  Sir  William 
Howe,  fiercely,  though  with  a  quivering  lip.  "  It  has 
stood  too  long  on  a  traitor's  shoulders  !  " 

"  You  must  make  haste  to  chop  it  off,  then,"  calmly 
replied  the  Colonel ;  "  for  a  few  hours  longer,  and  not 
all  the  power  of  Sir  William  Howe,  nor  of  his  master, 
shall  cause  one  of  these  gray  hairs  to  fall.  The  em- 
pire of  Britain  in  this  ancient  province  is  at  its  last 
gasp  to-night ;  —  almost  while  I  speak  it  is  a  dead 
corpse ;  —  and  methinks  the  shadows  of  the  old  gov- 
ernors are  fit  mourners  at  its  funeral  I " 

With  these  words  Colonel  Joliffe  threw  on  his  cloak, 
and  drawing  his  granddaughter's  arm  within  his  own, 
retired  from  the  last  festival  that  a  British  ruler  ever 
held  in  the  old  province  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  It 
was  supposed  that  the  Colonel  and—the  young  lady 
possessed  some  secret  intelligence  in  regard  to  the 
mysterious  pageant  of  that  night.  However  this  might 
be,  such  knowledge  has  never  become  general.  The 
actors  in  the  scene  have  vanished  into  deeper  obscur- 
ity than  even  that  wild  Indian  band  who  scattered  the 
cargoes  of  the  tea  ships  on  the  waves,  and  gained  a 
place  in  history,  yet  left  no  names. !  But  superstition, 
among  other  legends  of  this  mansion,  repeats  the  won- 
drous tale,  that  on  the  anniversary  night  of  Britain's 
discomfiture  the  ghosts  of  the  ancient  governors  of 
Massachusetts  still  glide  through  the  portal  of  the  Prov- 


no  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

ince  House.  And,  last  of  all,  comes  a  figure  shrouded 
in  a  military  cloak,  tossing  his  clinched  hands  into  the 
air,  and  stamping  his  iron-shod  boots  upon  the  broad 
freestone  steps,  with  a  semblance  of  feverish  despair,  but 
without  the  sound  of  a  foot-tramp. 


When  the  truth-telling  accents  of  the  elderly  gentleman 
were  hushed,  I  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked  round  the 
room,  striving,  with  the  best  energy  of  my  imagination, 
to  throw  a  tinge  of  romance  and  historic  grandeur  over 
the  realities  of  the  scene.  But  my  nostrils  snuffed  up  a 
scent  of  cigar  smoke,  clouds  of  which  the  narrator  had 
emitted  by  way  of  visible  emblem,  I  suppose,  of  the  nebu- 
lous obscurity  of  his  tale.  Moreover,  my  gorgeous  fan- 
tasies were  wofully  disturbed  by  the  rattling  of  the  spoon 
in  a  tumbler  of  whiskey  punch,  which  Mr.  Thomas  Waite 
was  mingling  for  a  customer.  Nor  did  it  add  to  the  pic- 
turesque appearance  of  the  panelled  walls  that  the  slate 
of  the  Brookline  stage  was  suspended  against  them,  in- 
stead of  the  armorial  escutcheon  of  some  far-descended 
governor.  A  stage-driver  sat  at  one  of  the  windows,  read- 
ing a  penny  paper  of  the  day  —  the  Boston  Times  — and 
presenting  a  figure  which  could  nowise  be  brought  into 
any  picture  of  "  Times  in  Boston  "  seventy  or  a  hundred 
years  ago.  On  the  window  seat  lay  a  bundle,  neatly  done 
up  in  brown  paper,  the  direction  of  which  I  had  the  idle 
curiosity  to  read.  "  Miss  SUSAN  HUGGINS,  at  the  PROV- 
INCE HOUSE."  A  pretty  chambermaid,  no  doubt.  In 
truth,  it  is  desperately  hard  work,  when  we  attempt  to 
throw  the  spell  of  hoar  antiquity  over  localities  with  which 
the  living  world,  and  the  day  that  is  passing  over  us,  have 
aught  to  do.  Yet,  as  I  glanced  at  the  stately  staircase 


Howe's   Masquerade  1 1 1 

down  which  the  procession  of  the  old  governors  had  .de- 
scended, and  as  I  emerged  through  the  venerable  portal 
whence  their  figures  had  preceded  me,  it  gladdened  me 
to  be  conscious  of  a  thrill  of  awe.  Then,  diving  through 
the  narrow  archway,  a  few  strides  transported  me  into  the 
densest  throng  of  Washington  Street. 


THE   BIRTHMARK 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century  there  lived  a  man 
of  science,  an  eminent  proficient  in  every  branch  of  natu- 
ral philosophy,  who  not  long  before  our  story  opens  had 
made  experience  of  a  spiritual  affinity  more  attractive  than 
any  chemical  one.  He  had  left  his  laboratory  to  the  care 
of  an  assistant,  cleared  his  fine  countenance  from  the 
furnace  smoke,  washed  the  stain  of  acids  from  his  fingers, 
and  persuaded  a  beautiful  woman  to  become  his  wife.  In 
those  days  when  the  comparatively  recent  discovery  of 
electricity  and  other  kindred  mysteries  of  Nature  seemed 
to  open  paths  into  the  region  of  miracle,  it  was  not  unusual 
for  the  love  of  science  to  rival  the  love  of  woman  in  its 
depth  and  absorbing  energy.  The  higher  intellect,  the 
imagination,  the  spirit,  and  even  the  heart  might  all  find 
their  congenial  aliment  in  pursuits  which,  as  some  of  their 
ardent  votaries  believed,  would  ascend  from  one  step  of 
powerful  intelligence  to  another,  until  the  philosopher 
should  lay  his  hand  on  the  secret  of  creative  force  and 
perhaps  make  new  worlds  for  himself.  We  know  not 
whether  Ajlmer  possessed  this  degree  of  faith  in  man's 
ultimate  control  over  Nature.  He  had  devoted  himself, 
however,  too  unreservedly  to  scientific  studies  ever  to  be 
weaned  from  them  by  any  second  passion.  His  love  for 
his  young  wife  might  prove  the  stronger  of  the  two ;  but 
it  could  only  be  by  intertwining  itself  with  his  love  of 
science,  and  uniting  the  strength  of  the  latter  to  his  own. 


The   Birthmark  113 

Such  a  union  accordingly  took  place,  and  was  attended 
with  truly  remarkable  consequences  and  a  deeply  impres- 
sive moral.  One  day,  very  soon  after  their  marriage, 
Aylmer  sat  gazing  at  his  wife  with  a  trouble  in  his  counte- 
nance that  grew  stronger  until  he  spoke. 

"  Georgiana,"  said  he,  "  has  it .neyer_oc_curred  to  you  that 
the  mark  on  your  cheek  might  be  rernove-d-?- " 

"No,  indeed,"  said  she,  smiling;  but  perceiving  the 
seriousness  of  his  manner,  she  blushed  deeply.  "  To  tell 
you  the  truth  it  has  been  so  often  called  a  charm  that  I 
was  simple  enough  to  imagine  it  might  be  so." 

"Ah,  upon  another  face  perhaps  it  might,"  replied  her 
husband  ;  "  but  never  on  yours.  No,  dearest  Georgiana, 
you  came  so  nearly  perfect  from  the  hand  of  Nature  that 
this  slightest  possible  defect,  which  we  hesitate  whether 
to  term  a  defect  or  a  beauty,  shocks  me,  as  being  the  visi- 
ble mark  of  earthly  imperfection." 

"Shocks  you,  my  husband!"  cried  Georgiana,  deeply 
hurt ;  at  first  reddening  with  momentary  anger,  but  then 
bursting  into  tears.  "  Then  why  did  you  take  me  from  my 
mother's  side  ?  You  cannot  love  what  shocks  you  I  " 

To  explain  this  conversation  it  must  be  mentioned  that 
in  the  centre  of  Georgiana's  left  cheek  there  was  a  singular 
mark,  deeply  interwoven,  as  it  were,  with  the  texture  and 
substance  of  her  face.  In  the  usual  state  of  her  com- 
plexion—  a  healthy  though  delicate  bloom  —  the  mark 
wore  a  tint  of  deeper  crimson,  which  imperfectly  defined 
its  shape  amid  the  surrounding  rosiness.  When  she 
blushed  it  gradually  became  more  indistinct,  and  finally 
vanished  amid  the  triumphant  rush  of  blood  that  bathed 
I  the  whole  cheek  with  its  brilliant  glow.  But  if  any  shift- 
ing motion  caused  her  to  turn  pale  there  was  the  mark 
again,  a  crimson  stain  upon  the  snow,  in  what  Aylmer 


114  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

sometimes  deemed  an  almost  fearful  distinctness.  Its 
shape  bore  not  a  little  similarity  to  the  human  hand, 
though  of  the  smallest  pygmy  size.  Georgian  a 's  lovers 
were  wont  to  say  that  some  fairy  at  her  birth  hour  had 
laid  her  tiny  hand  upon  the  infant's  cheek,  and  left  this 
impress  there  in  token  of  the  magic  endowments  that  were 
to  give  her  such  sway  over  all  hearts.  Many  a  desperate 
swain  would  have  risked  life  for  the  privilege  of  pressing 
his  lips  to  the  mysterious  hand.  It  must  not  be  concealed, 
however,  that  the  impression  wrought  by  this  fairy  sign 
manual  varied  exceedingly,  according  to  the  difference  of 
temperament  in  the  beholders.  Some  fastidious  persons 
—  but  they  were  exclusively  of  her  own  sex  —  affirmed 
that  the  bloody  hand,  as  they  chose  to  call  it,  quite  de- 
stroyed the  effect  of  Georgiana's  beauty,  and  rendered  her 
countenance  even  hideous.  But  it  would  be  as  reasonable 
to  say  that  one  of  those  small  blue  stains  which  sometimes 
occur  in  the  purest  statuary  marble  would  convert  the 
Eve  of  Powers  to  a  monster.  Masculine  observers,  if  the 
birthmark  did  not  heighten  their  admiration,  contented 
themselves  with  wishing  it  away,  that  the  world  might 
possess  one  living  specimen  of  ideal  loveliness  without  the 
semblance  of  a  flaw.  After  his  marriage,  —  for  he  thought 
little  or  nothing  of  the  matter  before,  —  Aylmer  discovered 
that  this  was  the  case  with  himself. 

Had  she  been  less  beautiful,  —  if  Envy's  self  could  have 
found  aught  else  to  sneer  at,  —  he  might  have  felt  his 
affection  heightened  by  the  prettiness  of  this  mimic  hand, 
now  vaguely  portrayed,  now  lost,  now  stealing  forth  again 
and  glimmering  to  and  fro  with  every  pulse  of  emotion 
that  throbbed  within  her  heart ;  but  seeing  her  otherwise 
so  perfect,  he  found  this  one  defect  grow  more  andjno.re 
intolerable  with  every  moment  of  their  united  lives.  It 


The   Birthmark  115 

was  the  fatal  flaw  of  humanity  which  Nature,  in  one  shape 
or  another,  stamps  ineffaceably  on  all  her  productions, 
either  to  imply  that  they  are  temporary  and  finite,  or  that 
their  perfection  must  be  wrought  by  toil  and  pain.  The 
crimson  hand  expressed  the  ineludible  grip^  in  which 
mortality  clutches  the  highest  and  purest  of  earthly  mould, 
degrading  them  into  kindred  with  the  lowest,  and  even 
with  the  very  brutes,  like  whom  their  visible  frames  return 
to  dust.  In  this  manner,  selecting  it  as  the  symbol  of  his 
wife's  liability  to  sin,  sorrow,  decay,  and  death, -Aylmer's 
sombre  imagination  was  not  long  in  rendering  the  birth- 
mark a  frightful  object,  causing  him  more  trouble  and 
horror  than  ever  Georgiana's  beauty,  whether  of  soul  or 
sense,  had  given  him  delight. 

At  all  the  seasons  which  should  have  been  their  happi- 
est, he  invariably  and  without  intending  it,  nay,  in  spite 
of  a  purpose  to  the  contrary,  reverted  to  this  one  disas- 
trous topic.  Trifling  as  it  at  first  appeared,  it  so  con- 
nected itself  with  innumerable  trains  of  thought  and 
modes  of  feeling  that  it  became  the  central  point  of  all. 
With  the  morning  twilight  Aylmer  opened  his  eyes  upon 
his  wife's  face  and  recognized  the  symbol  of  imperfection  ; 
and  when  they  sat  together  at  the  evening  hearth  his  eyes 
wandered  stealthily  to  her  cheek,  and  beheld,  flickering 
with  the  blaze  of  the  wood  fire,  the  spectral  hand  that 
wrote  mortality  where  he  would  fain  have  worshipped. 
Georgiana  soon  learned  to  shudder  at  his  gaze.  It  needed 
but  a  glance  with  the  peculiar  expression  that  his  face 
often  wore  to  change  the  roses  of  her  cheek  into  a  death- 
like paleness,  amid  which  the  crimson  hand  was  brought 
strongly  out,  like  a  bas-relief  of  ruby  on  the  whitest  marble. 

Late  one  night  when  the  lights  were  growing  dim,  so 
as  hardly  to  betray  the  stain  on  the  poor  wife's  cheek, 


1 1 6  Nathaniel   H  awthorne 

she,  herself,  for  the  first  time,  voluntarily  took  up  the 
subject. 

"  Do  you  remember,  my  dear  Aylmer,"  said  she,  with 
a  feeble  attempt  at  a  smile,  "  have  you  any  recollection 
of  a  dream  last  night  about  this  odious  hand  ?  " 

"None!  none  whatever!"  replied  Aylmer,  starting; 
but  then  he  added,  in  a  dry,  cold  tone,  affected  for  the 
sake  of  concealing  the  real  depth  of  his  emotion,  "  I 
might  well  dream  of  it ;  for  before  I  fell  asleep  it  had 
taken  a  pretty  firm  hold  of  my  fancy." 

"And  you  did  dr£Laui__Qf,  Jt  ?  "  continued  Georgiana, 
hastily ;  for  she  dreaded  lest  a  gush  of  tears  should  in- 
terrupt what  she  had  to  say.  "  A  terrible  dream !  I 
wonder  that  you  can  forget  it.  Is  it  possible  to  forget 
this  one  expression  ?  —  'It  is  in  her  heart  now ;  we  must 
have  it  out ! '  Reflect,  my  husband ;  for  by  all  means  I 
would  have  you  recall  that  dream." 

The  mind  is  in  a  sad  state  when  Sleep,  the  all-involv- 
ing, cannot  confine  her  spectres  within  the  dim  region 
of  her  sway,  but  suffers  them  to  break  forth,  affrighting 
this  actual  life  with  secrets  that  perchance  belong  to  a 
deeper  one.  Aylmer  now  remembered  his  dream.  He 
had  fancied  himself  with  his  servant  Aminadab,  attempt- 
ing an  operation  for  the  removal  of  the  birthmark ;  but 
the  deeper  went  the  knife,  the  deeper  sank  the  hand, 
until  at  length  its  tiny  grasp  appeared  to  have  caught 
hold  of  Georgiana's  heart ;  whence,  however,  her  hus- 
band was  inexorably  resolved  to  cut  or  wrench  it  away. 

When  the  dream  had  shaped  itself  perfectly  in  his 
memory,  Aylmer  sat  in  his  wife's  presence  with  a  guilty 
feeling.  Truth  often  finds  its  way  to-4ka~4nind  close 
muffled  in  robes  of  sleep,  and  then  speaks  with  uncom- 
promising directness  of  matters  in  regard  to  which  we 


The   Birthmark  117 

practise  an  unconscious  self-deception  during  our  waking 
moments.  Until  now  he  had  not  been  aware  of  the  tyr- 
annizing influence  acquired  by  one  idea  over  his  mind, 
and  of  the  lengths  which  he  might  find  in  his  heart  to  go 
for  the  sake  of  giving  himself  peace. 

"  Aylmer,"  resumed  Georgiana,  solemnly,  "I  know  not 
what  may  be  the  cost  to  both  of  us  to  rid  me  of  this  fatal 
birthmark.  Perhaps  its  removal  may  cause  cureless  de- 
formity ;  or  it  may  be  the  stain  goes  as  deep  as  life  itself. 
Again  :  do  we  know  that  there  is  a  possibility,  on  any 
terms,  of  unclasping  the  firm  gripe  of  this  little  hand 
which  was  laid  upon  me  before  I  came  into  the  world  ? " 

"  Dearest  Georgiana,  I  have  spent  much  thought  upon 
the  subject,"  hastily  interrupted  Aylmer.  "  I  am  con- 
vinced of  the  perfect  practicability  of  its  removal." 

"  If  there  be  the  remotest  possibility  of  it,"  continued 
Georgiana,  "  let  the  attempt  be  made  at  whatever  risk. 
Danger  is  nothing  to  me  ;  for  life,  while  this  hateful  mark 
makes  me  the  object  of  your  horror  and  disgust,  —  life  is 
a  burden  which  I  would  fling  down  with  joy.  Either  re- 
move this  dreadful  hand,  or  take  my  wretched  life  !  You 
have  deep  science.  All  the  world  bears  witness  of  it. 
You  have  achieved  great  wonders.  Cannot  you  remove 
this  little,  little  mark,  which  I  cover  with  the  tips  of  two 
small  fingers  ?  Is  this  beyond  your  power,  for  the  sake 
of  your  own  peace,  and  to  save  your  poor  wife  from 
madness  ? " 

"  Noblest,  dearest,  tenderest  wife,"  cried  Aylmer,  rap- 
turously, "  doubt  not  my  power.  I  have  already  given 
this  matter  the  deepest  thought  —  thought  which  might 
almost  have  enlightened  me  to  create  a  being  less  perfect 
than  yourself.  Georgiana,  you  have  led  me  deeper  than 
ever  into  the  heart  of  science.  I  feel  myself  fully  com- 


'n8  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

petent  to  render  this  dear  cheek  as  faultless  as  its  fellow ; 
and  then;  most  beloved,  what  will  be  my  triumph  when  I 
shall  have  corrected  what  Nature  left  imperfect  in  her 
fairest  work !  Even  Pygmalion,  when  his  sculptured 
woman  assumed  life,  felt  not  greater  ecstasy  than  mine 
will  be." 

"  It  is  resolved,  then,"  said  Georgiana,  faintly  smiling. 
"  And,  Aylmer,  spare  me  not,  though  you  should  find  the 
birthmark  take  refuge  in  my  heart  at  last." 

Her  husband  tenderly  kissed  her  cheek — her  right  cheek 
—  not  that  which  bore  the  impress  of  the  crimson  hand. 

The  next  day  Aylmer  apprised  his  wife  of  a  plan  that 
he  had  formed  whereby  he  might  have  opportunity  for 
the  intense  thought  and  constant  watchfulness  which  the 
proposed  operation  would  require ;  while  Georgiana,  like- 
wise, would  enjoy  the  perfect  repose  essential  to  its  suc- 
cess. They  were  to  seclude  themselves  in  the  extensive 
apartments  occupied  by  Aylmer  as  a  laboratory,  and 
where,  during  his  toilsome  youth,  he  had  made  discover- 
ies in  the  elemental  powers  of  Nature  that  had  roused  the 
admiration  of  all  the  learned  societies  in  Europe.  Seated 
calmly  in  this  laboratory,  the  pale  philosopher  had  inves- 
tigated the  secrets  of  the  highest  cloud  region  and  of  the 
profoundest  mines  ;  he  had  satisfied  himself  of  the  causes 
that  kindled  and  kept  alive  the  fires  of  the  volcano ;  and 
had  explained  the  mystery  of  fountains,  and  how  it  is  that 
they  gush  forth,  some  so  bright  and  pure,  and  others  with 
such  rich  medicinal  virtues,  from  the  dark  bosom  of  the 
earth.  Here,  too,  at  an  earlier  period,  he  had  studied 
the  wonders  of  the  human  frame,  and  attempted  to  fathom 
die  very  process  by  which  Nature  assimilates  all  her  pre- 
cious influences  from  earth  and  air,  and  from  the  spiritual 
world,  to  create  and  foster  man,  her  masterpiece.  The 


The   Birthmark  119' 

latter  pursuit,  however,  Aylmer  had  long  laid  aside  in 
unwilling  recognition  of  the  truth  —  against  which  all 
seekers  sooner  or  later  stumble  —  that  our  great  creative 
Mother,  while  she  amuses  us  with  apparently  working  in 
the  broadest  sunshine,  is  yet  severely  careful  to  keep  her 
own  secrets,  and,  in  spite  of  her  pretended  openness, 
shows  us  nothing  but  results.  She  permits  us,  indeed, 
to  mar,  but  seldom  to  mend,  and,  like  a  jealous  patentee, 
on  no  account  to  make.  Now,  however,  Aylmer  resumed 
these  half-forgotten  investigations ;  not,  of  course,  with 
such  hopes  or  wishes  as  first  suggested  them  ;  but  be- 
cause they  involved  much  physiological  truth  and  lay  in 
the  path  of  his  proposed  scheme  for  the  treatment  of 
Georgiana. 

As  he  led  her  over  the  threshold  of  the  laboratory, 
Georgiana  was  cold  and  tremulous.  Aylmer  looked 
cheerfully  into  her  face,  with  intent  to  reassure  her,  but 
was  so  startled  with  the  intense  glow  of  the  birthmark 
upon  the  whiteness  of  her  cheek  that  he  could  not  restrain 
a  strong  convulsive  shudder.  His  wife  fainted. 

"  Aminadab  1  Aminadab  !  "  shouted  Aylmer,  stamping 
violently  on  the  floor. 

Forthwith  there  issued  from  an  inner  apartment  a  man 
of  low  stature,  but  bulky  frame,  with  shaggy  hair  hanging 
about  his  visage,  which  was  grimed  with  the  vapors  of 
the  furnace.  This  personage  had  been  Aylmer's  under- 
worker  during  his  whole  scientific  career,  and  was  ad- 
mirably fitted  for  that  office  by  his  great  mechanical 
readiness,  and  the  skill  with  which,  while  incapable  of 
comprehending  a  single  principle,  he  executed  all  the 
details  of  his  master's  experiments.  With  his  vast 
strength,  his  shaggy  hair,  his  smoky  aspect,  and  the  in- 
describable earthiness  that  incrusted  him,  he  seemed  to 


I2O  Nathaniel    Hawthorne 

represent  man's  physical  nature;  while  Aylmer's  slender 
figure,  and  pale,  intellectual  face,  were  no  less  apt  a  type 
of  the  spiritual  element. 

"  Throw  open  the  door  of  the  boudoir,  Aminaclab," 
said  Aylmer,  "  and  burn  a  pastil." 

"  Yes,  master,"  answered  Aminadab,  looking  intently 
at  the  lifeless  form  of  Georgiana ;  and  then  he  muttered 
to  himself,  "  If  she  were  my  wife,  I'd  never  part  with  that 
birthmark." 

When  Georgiana  recovered  consciousness  she  found 
herself  breathing  an  atmosphere  of  penetrating  fragrance, 
the  gentle  potency  of  which  had  recalled  her  from  her 
deathlike  faintness.  The  scene  around  her  looked  like 
enchantment.  Aylmer  had  converted  those  smoky,  dingy, 
sombre  rooms,  where  he  had  spent  his  brightest  years  in 
recondite  pursuits,  into  a  series  of  beautiful  apartments 
not  unfit  to  be  the  secluded  abode  of  a  lovely  woman. 
The  walls  were  hung  with  gorgeous  curtains,  which  im- 
parted the  combination  of  grandeur  and  grace  that  no 
other  species  of  adornment  can  achieve  ;  and  as  they  fell 
from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor,  their  rich  and  ponderous 
folds,  concealing  all  angles  and  straight  lines,  appeared 
to  shut  in  the  scene  from  infinite  space.  For  aught 
Georgiana  knew,  it  might  be  a  pavilion  among  the  clouds. 
And  Aylmer,  excluding  the  sunshine,  which  would  have 
interfered  with  his  chemical  processes,  had  supplied  its 
place  with  perfumed  lamps,  emitting  flames  of  various 
hue,  but  all  uniting  in  a  soft,  impurpled  radiance.  He 
now  knelt  by  his  wife's  side,  watching  her  earnestly,  but 
without  alarm  ;  for  he  was  confident  in  his  science,  and 
felt  that  he  could  draw  a  magic  circle  round  her  within 
which  no  evil  might  intrude. 

"  Where    am    I?     Ah,   I    remember,"  said    Georgiana, 


The   Birthmark  121 

faintly;  and  she  placed  her  hand' over  her  cheek  to  hide 
the  terrible  mark  from  her  husband's  eyes. 

"  Fear  not,  dearest !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  Do  not  shrink 
from  me  !  Believe  me,  Georgiana,  I  even  rejoice  in  this 
single  imperfection,  since  it  will  be  such  a  rapture  to  re- 
move it." 

"  Oh,  spare  me  1  "  sadly  replied  his  wife.  "  Pray  do  not 
look  at  it  again.  I  never  can  forget  that  convulsive 
shudder." 

In  order  to  soothe  Georgiana,  and,  as  it  were,  to  release 
her  mind  from  the  burden  of  actual  things,  Aylmer  now 
put  in  practice  some  of  the  light  and  playful  secrets  which 
science  had  taught  him  among  its  profounder  lore.  Airy 
figures,  absolutely  bodiless  ideas,  and  forms  of  unsubstan- 
tial beauty  came  and  danced  before  her,  imprinting  their 
momentary  footsteps  on  beams  of  light.  Though  she  had 
some  indistinct  idea  of  the  method  of  these  optical  phenom- 
ena, still  the  illusion  was  almost  perfect  enough  to  warrant 
the  belief  that  her  husband  possessed  sway  over  the  spirit- 
ual world.  Then  again,  when  she  felt  a  wish  to  look  forth 
from  her  seclusion,  immediately,  as  if  her  thoughts  were 
answered,  the  possession  of  external  existence  flitted 
across  a  screen.  The  scenery  and  the  figures  of  actual 
life  were  perfectly  represented,  but  with  that  bewitching, 
yet  indescribable  difference  which  always  makes  a  picture, 
an  image,  or  a  shadow  so  much  more  attractive  than  the 
original.  When  weaned  of  this,  Aylmer  bade  her  cast  her 
eyes  upon  a  vessel  containing  a  quantity  of  earth.  She 
did  so,  with  little  interest  at  first ;  but  was  soon  startled 
to  perceive  the  germ  of  a  plant  shooting  upward  from  the 
soil.  Then  came  the  slender  stalk ;  the  leaves  gradually 
unfolded  themselves ;  and  amid  them  was  a  perfect  and 
lovely  flower. 


122  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

"  It  is  magical !  "  cried  Georgiana.  "  I  dare  not  touch  it." 

"  Nay,  pluck  it,"  answered  Aylmer, —  "pluck  it,  and 
inhale  its  brief  perfume  while  you  may.  The  flower  will 
wither  in  a  few  moments  and  leave  nothing  save  its  brown 
seed  vessels  ;  but  thence  may  be  perpetuated  a  race  as 
ephemeral  as  itself." 

But  Georgiana  had  no  sooner  touched  the  flower  than 
the  whole  plant  suffered  a  blight,  its  leaves  turning  coal- 
black  as  if  by  the  agency  of  fire. 

"  There  was  too  powerful  a  stimulus,"  said  Ay  liner, 
thoughtfully. 

To  make  up  for  this  abortive  experiment,  he  proposed 
to  take  her  portrait  by  a  scientific  process  of  his  own  in- 
vention. It  was  to  be  effected  by  rays  of  light  striking 
upon  a  polished  plate  of  metal.  Georgiana  assented ;  but, 
on  looking  at  the  result,  was  affrighted  to  find  the  features 
of  the  portrait  blurred  and  indefinable  ;  while  the  minute 
figure  of  a  hand  appeared  where  the  cheek  should  have 
been.  Aylmer  snatched  the  metallic  plate  and  threw  it 
into  a  jar  of  corrosive  acid. 

Soon,  however,  he  forgot  these  mortifying  failures.  In 
the  intervals  of  study  and  chemical  experiment  he  came 
to  her  flushed  and  exhausted,  but  seemed  invigorated  by 
her  presence,  and  spoke  in  glowing  language  of  the  re- 
sources of  his  art.  He  gave  a  history  of  the  long  dynasty 
of  the  alchemists,  who  spent  so  many  ages  in  quest  of  the 
universal  solvent  by  which  the  golden  principle  might  be 
elicited  from  all  things  vile  and  base.  Aylmer  appeared 
to  believe  that,  by  the  plainest  scientific  logic,  it  was  alto- 
gether within  the  limits  of  possibility  to  discover  this  long- 
sought  medium;  "but,"  he  added,  "a  philosopher  who 
should  go  deep  enough  to  acquire  the  power  would  attain 
too  lofty  a  wisdom  to  stoop  to  the  exercise  of  it."  Not 


The  Birthmark  123 

less  singular  were  his  opinions  in  regard  to  the  elixir  vitae. 
He  more  than  intimated  that  it  was  at  his  option  to  con- 
coct a  liquid  that  should  prolong  life  for  years,  perhaps 
interminably ;  but  that  it  would  produce  a  discord  in 
Nature  which  all  the  world,  and  chiefly  the  quaffer  of  the 
immortal  nostrum,  would  find  cause  to  curse. 

"  Aylmer,  are  you  in  earnest  ?  "  asked  Georgiana,  look- 
ing at  him  with  amazement  and  fear.  "It  is  terrible  to 
possess  such  power,  or  even  to  dream  of  possessing  it." 

"  Oh,  do  not  tremble,  my  love,"  said  her  husband.  "  I 
would  not  wrong  either  you  or  myself  by  working  such 
inharmonious  effects  upon  our  lives  ;  but  I  would  have 
you  consider  how  trifling,  in  comparison,  is  the  skill 
requisite  to  remove  this  little  hand." 

At  the  mention  of  the  birthmark,  Georgiana,  as  usual, 
shrank  as  if  a  redhot  iron  had  touched  her  cheek. 

Again  Aylmer  applied  himself  to  his  labors.  She  could 
hear  his  voice  in  the  distant  furnace  room  giving  directions 
to  Aminadab,  whose  harsh,  uncouth,  misshapen  tones  were 
audible  in  response,  more  like  the  grunt  or  growl  of  a 
brute  than  human  speech.  After  hours  of  absence, 
Aylmer  reappeared  and  proposed  that  she  should  now 
examine  his  cabinet  of  chemical  products  and  natural 
treasures  of  the  earth.  Among  the  former  he  showed  her 
a  small  vial,  in  which,  he  remarked,  was  contained  a  gentle 
yet  most  powerful  fragrance,  capable  of  impregnating  all 
the  breezes  that  blow  across  the  kingdom.  They  were 
of  inestimable  value,  the  contents  of  that  little  vial  ; 
and,  as  he  said  so,  he  threw  some  of  the  perfume  into 
the  air  and  filled  the  room  with  piercing  and  invigorating 
delight. 

"  And  what  is  this  ?  "  asked  Georgiana,  pointing  to  a 
small  crystal  globe  containing  a  gold-colored  liquid.  "It 


124  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

is  so  beautiful  to  the  eye  that  I  could  imagine  it  the  elixir 
of  life." 

"  In  one  sense  it  is, ".replied  Aylmer ;  "  or,  rather,  the 
elixir  of  immortality.  It  is  the  most  precious  poison  that 
ever  was  concocted  in  this  world.  By  its  aid  I  could 
apportion  the  lifetime  of  any  mortal  at  whom  you  might 
point  your  finger.  The  strength  of  the  dose  would  deter- 
mine whether  he  were  to  linger  out  years,  or  drop  dead  in 
the  midst  of  a  breath.  No  king  on  his  guarded  throne 
could  keep  his  life  if  I,  in  my  private  station,  should  deem 
that  the  welfare  of  millions  justified  me  in  depriving  him 
of  it." 

"Why  do  you  keep  such  a  terrific  drug?"  inquired 
Georgiana  in  horror. 

"  Do  not  mistrust  me,  dearest,"  said  her  husband, 
smiling ;  "  its  virtuous  potency  is  yet  greater  than  its 
harmful  one.  But  see  1  here  is  a  powerful  cosmetic.  With 
a  few  drops  of  this  in  a  vase  of  water,  freckles  may  be 
washed  away  as  easily  as  the  hands  are  cleansed.  A 
stronger  infusion  would  take  the  blood  out  of  the  cheek, 
and  leave  the  rosiest  beauty  a  pale  ghost." 

"Is  it  with  this  lotion  that  you  intend  to  bathe  my 
cheek?"  asked  Georgiana,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  no,"  hastily  replied  her  husband  ;  "  this  is  merely 
superficial.  Your  case  demands  a  remedy  that  shall  go 
deeper." 

In  his  interviews  with  Georgiana,  Aylmer  generally  made 
/  minute  inquiries  as  to  her  sensations  and  whether  the  con- 
finement of  the  rooms  and  the  temperature  of  the  atmos- 
phere agreed  with  her.  These  questions  had  such  a 
particular  drift  that  Georgiana  began  to  conjecture  that 
she  was  already  subjected  to  certain  physical  influences, 
either  breathed  in  with  the  fragrant  air  or  taken  with  her 


The  Birthmark  125 

food.  She  fancied  likewise,  but  it  might  be  altogether 
fancy,  that  there  was  a  stirring  up  of  her  system  —  a 
strange,  indefinite  sensation  creeping  through  her  veins, 
and  tingling,  half  painfully,  half  pleasurably,  at  her  heart. 
Still,  whenever  she  dared  to  look  into  the  mirror,  there 
she  beheld  herself  pale  as  a  white  rose  and  with  the 
crimson  birthmark  stamped  upon  her  cheek.  Not  even 
Aylmer  now  hated  it  so  much  as  she. 

To  dispel  the  tedium  of  the  hours  which  her  husband 
found  it  necessary  to  devote  to  the  processes  of  combina- 
tion and  analysis,  Georgiana  turned  over  the  volumes  of 
his  scientific  library.  In  many  dark  old  tomes  she  met 
with  chapters  full  of  romance  and  poetry.  They  were  the 
works  of  the  philosophers  of  the  middle  ages,  such  as 
Albertus  Magnus,  Cornelius  Agrippa,  Paracelsus,  and  the 
famous  friar  who  created  the  prophetic  Brazen  Head- 
All  these  antique  naturalists  stood  in  advance  of  their 
centuries,  yet  were  imbued  with  some  of  their  credulity, 
and  therefore  were  believed,  and  perhaps  imagined  them- 
selves to  have  acquired  from  the  investigation  of  Nature  a 
power  above  Nature,  and  from  physics  a  sway  over  the 
spiritual  world.  Hardly  less  curious  and  imaginative 
were  the  early  volumes  of  the  Transactions  of  the  Royal 
Society,  in  which  the  members,  knowing  little  of  the  limits 
of  natural  possibility,  were  continually  recording  wonders 
or  proposing  methods  whereby  wonders  might  be  wrought. 

But  to  Georgiana  the  most  engrossing  volume  was  a  large 
folio  from  her  husband's  own  hand,  in  which  he  had 
recorded  every  experiment  of  his  scientific  career,  its 
original  aim,  the  methods  adopted  for  its  development, 
and  its  final  success  or  failure,  with  the  circumstances  to 
which  either  event  was  attributable.  The  bock,  in  truth, 
was  both  the  history  and  emblem  of  his  ardent,  ambitious, 


126  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

imaginative,  yet  practical  and  laborious  life.  He  handled 
physical  details  as  if  there  were  nothing  beyond  them  ;  yet 
spiritualized  them  all,  and  redeemed  himself  from  material- 
ism by  his  strong  and  eager  aspiration  towards  the  infinite. 
In  his  grasp  the  veriest  clod  of  earth  assumed  a  soul. 
Georgiana,  as  she  read,  reverenced  Aylmer  and  loved  him 
more  profoundly  than  ever,  but  with  a  less  entire  depend- 
ence on  his  judgment  than  heretofore.  Much  as  he  had 
accomplished,  she  could  not  but  observe  that  his  most 
splendid  successes  were  almost  invariably  failures,  if  com- 
pared with  the  ideal  at  which  he  aimed.  His  brightest 
diamonds  were  the  merest  pebbles,  and  felt  to  be  so  by 
himself,  in  comparison  with  the  inestimable  gems  which, 
lay  hidden  beyond  his  reach.  /^The  volume,  rich  with 
achievements  that  had  won  renown  for  its  author,  was  yet 
as  melancholy  a  record  as  ever  mortal  hand  had  penned. 
It  was  the  sad  confession  and  continual  exemplification  of 
the  shortcomings  of  the  composite  man,  the  spirit  burdened 
with  clay  and  working  in  matter,  and  of  the  despair  that 
assails  the  higher  nature  at  finding  itself  so  miserably 
thwarted  by  the  earthly  part.  Perhaps  every  man  of 
genius  in  whatever  sphere  might  recognize  the  image  of 
his  own  experience  in  Aylmer's  journal. 

So  deeply  did  these  reflections  affect  Georgiana  that  she 
laid  her  face  upon  the  open  volume  and  burst  into  tears. 
In  this  situation  she  was  found  by  her  husband. 

"It  is  dangerous  to  read  in  a  sorcerer's  books,"  said  he 
with  a  smile,  though  his  countenance  was  uneasy  and  dis- 
pleased. "  Georgiana,  there  are  pages  in  that  volume 
which  I  can  scarcely  glance  over  and  keep  my  senses. 
Take  heed  less  it  prove  as  detrimental  to  you." 

"  It  has  made  me  worship  you  more  than  ever,"  said 
she, 


The  Birthmark  127 

"  Ah,  wait  for  this  one  success,"  rejoined- he,  "  then 
worship  me  if  you  will.  I  shall  deem  myself  hardly  un- 
worthy of  it.  But  come,  I  have  sought  you  for  the  luxury 
of  your  voice.  Sing  to  me,  dearest." 

So  she  poured  out  the  liquid  music  of  her  voice  to  quench 

[the  thirst  of  his  spirit.     He  then  took  his  leave  with  a 

boyish  exuberance  of  gayety,  assuring  her  that  her  seclusion 

i  would  endure  but  a  little  longer,  and  that  the  result  was 

I  already  certain.     Scarcely  had  he  departed  when  Georgiana 

I  felt  irresistibly  impelled  to  follow  him.     She  had  forgotten 

to  inform  Aylmer  of  a  symptom  which  for  two  or  three 

hours  past  had  begun  to  excite  her  attention.     It  was  a 

sensation   in  the  fatal  birthmark,  not  painful,  but  which 

induced  a  restlessness  throughout  her  system.     Hastening 

after  her  husband,  she  intruded  for  the  first  time  into  the 

laboratory. 

The  first  thing  that  struck  her  eye  was  the  furnace,  that 
hot  and  feverish  worker,  with  the  intense  glow  of  its  fire, 
which  by  the  quantities  of  soot  clustered  above  it  seemed 
to  have  been  burning  for  ages.  There  was  a  distilling 
apparatus  in  full  operation.  Around  the  room  were  retorts, 
tubes,  cylinders,  crucibles,  and  other  apparatus  of  chemical 
research.  An  electrical  machine  stood  ready  for  immediate 
use.  The  atmosphere  felt  oppressively  close,  and  was 
tainted  with  gaseous  odors  which  had  been  tormented 
forth  by  the  processes  of  science.  The  severe  and  homely 
simplicity  of  the  apartment,  with  its  naked  walls  and  brick 
pavement,  looked  strange,  accustomed  as  Georgiana  had 
become  to  the  fantastic  elegance  of  her  boudoir.  But  what 
chiefly,  indeed  almost  solely,  drew  her  attention,  was  the 
aspect  of  Aylmer  himself. 

He  was  pale  as  death,  anxious  and  absorbed,  and  hung 
over  the  furnace  as  if  it  depended  upon  his  utmost  watch- 


128  Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

fulness  whether  the  liquid  which  it  was  distilling  should  be 
the  draught  of  immortal  happiness  or  misery.  How  dif- 
ferent from  the  sanguine  and  joyous  mien  that  he  had  as- 
sumed for  Georgiana's  encouragement ! 

"  Carefully  now,  Aminadab  ;  carefully,  thou  human  ma- 
chine ;  carefully,  thou  man  of  clay !  "  muttered  Aylmer, 
more  to  himself  than  to  his  assistant.  "  Now,  if  there  be 
a  thought  too  much  or  too  little,  it  is  all  over." 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  "  mumbled  Aminadab.  "  Look,  master  ! 
lopk!" 

Aylmer  raised  his  eyes  hastily,  and  at  first  reddened, 
then  grew  paler  than  ever,  on  beholding  Georgiana.  He 
rushed  towards  her  and  seized  her  arm  with  a  gripe  that 
left  the  print  of  his  fingers  upon  it. 

"  Why  do  you  come  hither  ?  Have  you  no  trust  in  your 
husband  ?  "  cried  he,  impetuously.  "  Would  you  throw  the 
blight  of  that  fatal  birthmark  over  my  labors  ?  It  is  not 
well  done.  Go,  prying  woman,  go  !  " 

"  Nay,  Aylmer,"  said  Georgiana  with  the  firmness  of 
which  she  possessed  no  stinted  endowment,  "  it  is  not  you 
that  have  a  right  to  complain.  You  mistrust  your  wife ; 
you  have  concealed  the  anxiety  with  which  you  watch  the 
development  of  this  experiment.  Think  not  so  unworthily 
of  me,  my  husband.  Tell  me  all  the  risk  we  run,  and  fear 
not  that  I  shall  shrink ;  for  my  share  in  it  is  far  less  than 
your  own." 

"No,  no,  Georgiana!"  said  Aylmer,  impatiently;  "it 
must  not  be." 

"  I  submit,"  replied  she  calmly.  "  And,  Aylmer,  I  shall 
quaff  whatever  draught  you  bring  me  ;  but  it  will  be  on  the 
same  principle  that  would  induce  me  to  take  a  dose  of 
poison  if  offered  by  your  hand." 

"  My  noble  wife,"  said  Aylmer,  deeply  moved,  "  I  knew 


The  Birthmark 


129 


not  the  height  and  depth  of  your  nature  until  now.  Nothing 
shall  be  concealed.  Know,  then,  that  this  crimson  hand, 
superficial  as  it  seems,  has  clutched  its  grasp  into  your 
being  with  a  strength  of  which  I  had  no  previous  conception. 
I  have  already  administered  agents  powerful  enough  to  do 
aught  except  to  change  your  entire  physical  system.  Only 
one  thing  remains  to  be  tried.  If  that  fail  us  we  are  ruined." 

"  Why  did  you  hesitate  to  tell  me  this  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  Because,  Georgiana,"  said  Aylmer,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  there  is  danger." 

"Danger?  There  is  but  one  danger  —  that  this  hor- 
rible stigma  shall  be  left  upon  my  cheek  ! "  cried  Georgiana. 
"  Remove  it,  remove  it,  whatever  be  the  cost,  or  we  shall 
both  go  mad  !  " 

"  Heaven  knows  your  words  are  too  true,"  said  Aylmer, 
sadly.  "  And  now,  dearest,  return  to  your  boudoir.  In  a 
little  while  all  will  be  tested." 

He  conducted  her  back  and  took  leave  of  her  with  a 
solemn  tenderness  which  spoke  far  more  than  his  words 
how  much  was  now  at  stake.  After  his  departure  Georgiana 
became  rapt  in  musings.  She  considered  the  character  of 
Aylmer,  and  did  it  completer  justice  than  at  any  previous 
moment.  Her  heart  exalted,  while  it  trembled,  at  his 
honorable  love  —  so  pure  and  lofty  that  it  would  accept 
nothing  less  than  perfection  nor  miserably  make  itself  con- 
tented with  an  earthlier  nature  than  he  had  dreamed  of. 
She  felt  how  much  more  precious  was  such  a  sentiment  than 
that  meaner  kind  which  would  have  borne  with  the  imper- 
fection for  her  sake,  and  have  been  guilty  of  treason  to  holy 
love  by  degrading  its  perfect  idea  to  the  level  of  the  actual; 
and  with  her  whole  spirit  she  prayed  that,  for  a  single 
moment,  she  might  satisfy  his  highest  and  deepest  con- 
ception. Longer  than  one  moment  she  well  knew  it  could 


ijo  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

not  be ;  for  his  spirit  was  ever  on  the  march,  ever  ascend- 
ing, and  each  instant  required  something  that  was  beyond 
the  scope  of  the  instant  before. 

The  sound  of  her  husband's  footsteps  aroused  her.  He 
bore  a  crystal  goblet  containing  a  liquor  colorless  as  water, 
but  bright  enough  to  be  the  draught  of  immortality.  Ayl- 
mer  was  pale  ;  but  it  seemed  rather  the  consequence  of  a 
highly-wrought  state  of  mind  and  tension  of  spirit  than  of 
fear  or  doubt. 

"  The  concoction  of  the  draught  has  been  perfect,"  said 
he,  in  answer  to  Georgiana's  look.  "  Unless  all  my  science 
have  deceived  me,  it  cannot  fail." 

"  Save  on  your  account,  my  dearest  Aylmer,"  observed 
his  wife,  "  I  might  wish  to  put  off  this  birthmark  of  mor- 
tality by  relinquishing  mortality  itself  in  preference  to  any 
other  mode.  Life  is  but  a  sad  possession  to  those  who  have 
attained  precisely  the  degree  of  moral  advancement  at  which 
I  stand.  Were  I  weaker  and  blinder  it  might  be  happiness. 
Were  I  stronger,  it  might  be  endured  hopefully.  But,  be-  j 
ing  what  I  find  myself,  methinks  I  am  of  all  mortals  the 
most  fit  to  die." 

"  You  are  fit  for  heaven  without  tasting  death !  "  replied 
her  husband.  "But  why  do  we  speak  of  dying?  The 
draught  cannot  fail.  Behold  its  effect  upon  this  plant." 

On  the  window  seat  there  stood  a  geranium  diseased  with 
yellow  blotches,  which  had  overspread  all  its  leaves.  Ayl- 
mer poured  a  small  quantity  of  the  liquid  upon  the  soil  in 
which  it  grew.  In  a  little  time,  when  the  roots  of  the  plant 
had  taken  up  the  moisture,  the  unsightly  blotches  began  to 
be  extinguished  in  a  living  verdure. 

"  There  needed  no  proof,"  said  Georgiana,  quietly. 
"  Give  me  the  goblet.  I  joyfully  stake  all  upon  your 
word." 


The   Birthmark  131 

"  Drink,  then,  thou  lofty  creature !  "  exclaimed  Aylmer, 
with  fervid  admiration.  "  There  is  no  taint  of  imperfection 
on  thy  spirit.  Thy  sensible  frame,  too,  shall  soon  be  all 
perfect." 

She  quaffed  the  liquid  and  returned  the  goblet  to  his 
hand. 

"  It  is  grateful/'  said  she  with  a  placid  smile.  "  Methinks 
it  is  like  water  from  a  heavenly  fountain ;  for  it  contains  I 
know  not  what  of  unobtrusive  fragrance  and  deliciousness. 
It  allays  a  feverish  thirst  that  had  parched  me  for  many 
days.  Now,  dearest,  let  me  sleep.  My  earthly  senses  are 
closing  over  my  spirit  like  the  leaves  around  the  heart  of  a 
rose  at  sunset." 

She  spoke  the  last  words  with  a  gentle  reluctance,  as  if 
it  required  almost  more  energy  than  she  could  command  to 
j  pronounce  the  faint  and  lingering  syllables.  Scarcely  had 
they  loitered  through  her  lips  ere  she  was  lost  in  slumber. 
J  Aylmer  sat  by  her  side,  watching  her  aspect  with  the 
emotions  proper  to  a  man  the  whole  value  of  whose  exist- 
ence was  involved  in  the  process  now  to  be  tested.  Mingled 
with  this  mood,  howrever,  was  the  philosophic  investigation 
characteristic  of  the  man  of  science.  Not  the  minutest 
symptom  escaped  him.  A  heightened  flush  of  the  cheek,  a 
slight  irregularity  of  breath,  a  quiver  of  the  eyelid,  a  hardly 
perceptible  tremor  through  the  frame,  —  such  were  the  de- 
tails which,  as  the  moments  passed,  he  wrote  down  in  his 
folio  volume.  Intense  thought  had  set  its  stamp  upon  every 
previous  page  of  that  volume,  but  the  thoughts  of  years 
were  all  concentrated  upon  the  last. 

While  thus  employed,  he  failed  not  to  gaze  often  at  the 
fatal  .hand,  and  not  without  a  shudder.  Yet  once,  by  a 
strange  and  unaccountable  impulse,  he  pressed  it  with  his 
lips.  His  spirit  recoiled,  however,  in  the  very  act ;  and 


Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

Georgiana,  out  of  the  midst  of  her  deep  sleep,  moved  un- 
easily and  murmured  as  if  in  remonstrance.  Again  Aylmer 
resumed  his  watch.  Nor  was  it  without  avail.  The  crim- 
son hand,  which  at  first  had  been  strongly  visible  upon  the 
marble  paleness  of  Georgiana's  cheek,  now  grew  more 
faintly  outlined.  She  remained  not  less  pale  than  ever ; 
but  the  birthmark,  with  every  breath  that  came  and  went, 
lost  somewhat  of  its  former  distinctness.  Its  presence  had 
been  awful  ;  its  departure  was  more  awful  still.  Watch 
the  stain  of  the  rainbow  fading  out  of  the  sky,  and  you 
will  know  how  that  mysterious  symbol  passed  away. 

"  By  Heaven  !  it  is  well  nigh  gone  !  "  said  Aylmer  to  him- 
self, in  almost  irrepressible  ecstasy.  "  I  can  scarcely  trace 
it  now.  Success  !  success  !  And  now  it  is  like  the  faintest 
rose  color.  The  lightest  flush  of  blood  across  her  cheek 
would  overcome  it.  But  she  is  so  pale  !  " 

He  drew  aside  the  window  curtain  and  suffered  the  light 
of  natural  day  to  fall  into  the  room  and  rest  upon  her  cheek. 
At  the  same  time  he  heard  a  gross,  hoarse  chuckle,  which 
he  had  long  known  as  his  servant  Aminadab's  expression 
of  delight. 

"  Ah,  clod  I  ah,  earthly  mass  !  "  cried  Aylmer,  laughing 
in  a  sort  of  frenzy,  "  you  have  served  me  well !  Matter  and 
spirit  —  earth  and  heaven  —  have  both  done  their  part  in 
this  !  Laugh,  thing  of  the  senses  !  You  have  earned  the 
right  to  laugh." 

These  exclamations  broke  Georgiana's  sleep.  She  slowly 
unclosed  her  eyes  and  gazed  into  the  mirror  which  her  hus- 
band had  arranged  for  that  purpose.  A  faint  smile  flitted 
over  her  lips  when  she  recognized  how  barely  perceptible 
was  now  that  crimson  hand  which  had  once  blazed  forth 
with  such  disastrous  brilliancy  as  to  scare  away  all  their 
happiness.  But  then  her  eyes  sought  Aylmer's  face  with 


The   Birthmark  133 


a  trouble  and  anxiety  that  he  could  by  no  means  account 
for. 

"  My  poor  Aylmer  !  "  murmured  she. 

"  Poor  ?  Nay,  richest,  happiest,  most  favored !  "  ex- 
claimed he.  "  My  peerless  bride,  it  is  successful  I  You 
are  perfect !  " 

"My  poor  Aylmer,"  -she  repeated,  with  a  more  than 
human  tenderness.  "  You  have  aimed  loftily ;  you  have 
done  nobly.  Do  not  repent  that  with  so  high  and  pure  a 
feeling,  you  have  rejected  the  best  the  earth  could  offer. 
Aylmer,  dearest  Aylmer,  I  am  dying!  " 

Alas !  it  was  too  true  !  The  fatal  hand  had  grappled 
with  the  mystery  of  life,  and  was  the  bond  by  which  an 
angelic  spirit  kept  itself  in  union  with  a  mortal  frame.  As 
the  last  crimson  tint  of  the  birthmark  —  that  sole  token  of 
|  human  imperfection  —  faded  from  her  cheek,  the  parting 
breath  of  the  now  perfect  woman  passed  into  tfre  atmos- 
I  phere,  and  her  soul,  lingering  a  moment  near  he/ husband, 
took  its  heavenward  flight.  Then  a  hoarse,  chuckling 
laugh  was  heard  again  !  Thus  ever  does  the  gross  fatality 
of  earth  exult  in  its  invariable  triumph  over  the  immortal 
essence  which,  in  this  dim  sphere  of  half  development, 
demands  the  completeness  of  a  higher  state.  Yet,  had 
Aylmer  reached  a  profounder  wisdom,  he  need  not  thus 
have  flung  away  the  happiness  which  would  have  woven 
his  mortal  life  of  the  selfsame  texture  with  the  celestial. 
The  momentary  circumstance  was  too  strong  for  him  ;  he 
failed  to  look  beyond  the  shadowy  scope  of  time,  and  living 
once  for  all  in  eternity,  to  find  the  perfect  future  in  the 
present, 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT 

As  Mr.  John  Oakhurst,  gambler,  stepped  into  the  main 
street  of  Poker  Flat  on  the  morning  of  the  23d  of  Novem- 
ber, 1850,  he  was  conscious  of  a  change  in  its  moral  atmos- 
phere since  the  preceding  night.  Two  or  three  men, 
conversing  earnestly  together,  ceased  as  he  approached, 
and  exchanged  significant  glances.  There  was  a  .Sabbath 
lull  in  the  air,  which,  in  a  settlement  unused  to  Sabbath 
influences,  looked  ominous. 

Mr.  Oakhurst's  calm,  handsome  face  betrayed  small  con- 
cern in  these  indications.  Whether  he  was  conscious  of 
any  predisposing  cause  was  another  question.  "  I  reckon 
they're  after  somebody,"  he  reflected;  "likely  it's  me." 
He  returned  to  his  pocket  the  handkerchief  writh  which  he 
had  been  whipping  away  the  red  dust  of  Poker  Flat  from 
his  neat  boots,  and  quietly  discharged  his  mind  of  any 
further  conjecture. 

In  point  of  fact,  Poker  Flat  was  "  after  somebody."  It 
had  lately  suffered  the  loss  of  several  thousand  dollars,  two 
valuable  horses,  and  a  prominent  citizen.  It  was  experi- 
encing a  spasm  of  virtuous  reaction,  quite  as  lawless  and 
ungovernable  as  any  of  the  acts  that  had  provoked  it.  A 
secret  committee  had  determined  to  rid  the  town  of  all 
improper  persons.  This  was  done  permanently  in  regard 
of  two  men  who  wrere  then  hanging  from  the  boughs  of  a 
sycamore  in  the  gulch,  and  temporarily  in  the  banishment 
of  certain  other  objectionable  characters.  I  regret  to  say 
that  some  of  these  were  ladies.  It  is  but  due  to  the  sex, 


BRET  HARTE 


The  Outcasts  of  Poker   Flat  135 

however,  to  state  that  their  impropriety  was  professional, 
and  it  was  only  in  such  easily  established  standards  of  evil 
that  Poker  Flat  ventured  to  sit  in  judgment. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  right  in  supposing  that  he  was  in- 
cluded in  this  category.  A  few  of  the  committee  had  urged 
hanging  him  as  a  possible  example  and  a  sure  method  of 
reimbursing  themselves  from  his  pockets  of  the  sums  he  had 
won  from  them.  "  It's  agin  justice,"  said  Jim  Wheeler, 
"to  let  this  yer  young  man  from  Roaring  Camp  —  an  en- 
tire stranger  —  carry  away  our  money."  But  a  crude 
sentiment  of  equity  residing  in  the  breasts  of  those  who 
had  been  fortunate  enough  to  win  from  Mr.  Oakhurst  over- 
ruled this  narrower  local  prejudice. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  received  his  sentence  with  philosophic 
calmness,  none  the  less  coolly  that  he  was  aware  of  the 
hesitation  of  his  judges.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gambler 
not  to  accept  fate.  With  him  life  was  at  best  an  uncertain 
game,  and  he  recognized  the  usual  percentage  in  favor  of 
the  dealer. 

A  body  of  armed  men  accompanied  the  deported  wicked- 
ness of  Poker  Flat  to  the  outskirts  of  the  settlement. 
Besides  Mr.  Oakhurst,  who  was  known  to  be  a  coolly  des- 
perate man,  and  for  whose  intimidation  the  armed  escort 
was  intended,  the  expatriated  party  consisted  of  a  young 
woman  familiarly  known  as  "  The  Duchess  ;  "  another  who 
had  won  the  title  of  "  Mother  Shipton ;  "  and  "  Uncle 
Billy,"  a  suspected  sluice-robber  and  confirmed  drunkard. 
The  cavalcade  provoked  no  comments  from  the  spectators, 
nor  was  any  word  uttered  by  the  escort.  Only  when  the 
gulch  which  marked  the  uttermost  limit  of  Poker  Flat  was 
reached,  the  leader  spoke  briefly  and  to  the  point.  The 
exiles  were  forbidden  to  return  at  the  peril  of  their 
lives. 


136  Bret  Harte 

As  the  escort  disappeared,  their  pent-up  feelings  found 
vent  in  a  few  hysterical  tears  from  the  Duchess,  some  bad 
language  from  Mother  Shipton,  and  a  Parthian  volley  of 
expletives  from  Uncle  Billy.  The  philosophic  Oakhurst 
alone  remained  silent.  He  listened  calmly* to  Mother 
Shipton's  desire  to  cut  somebody's  heart  out,  to  the  re- 
peated statements  of  the  Duchess  that  she  would  die  in 
the  road,  and  to  the  alarming  oaths  that  seemed  to  be 
bumped  out  of  Uncle  Billy  as  he  rode  forward.  With  the 
easy  good  humor  characteristic  of  his  class,  he  insisted 
upon  exchanging  his  own  riding-horse,  "  Five-Spot,"  for 
the  sorry  mule  which  the  Duchess  rode.  But  even  this 
act  did  not  draw  the  party  into  any  closer  sympathy. 
The  young  woman  readjusted  her  somewhat  draggled 
plumes  with  a  feeble,  faded  coquetry ;  Mother  Shipton 
eyed  the  possessor  of  "  Five-Spot  "  with  malevolence,  and 
Uncle  Billy  included  the  whole  party  in  one  sweeping 
anathema. 

The  road  to  Sandy  Bar  —  a  camp  that,  not  having  as 
yet  experienced  the  regenerating  influences  of  Poker  Flat, 
consequently  seemed  to  offer  'some  invitation  to  the  emi- 
grants —  lay  over  a  steep  mountain  range.  It  was  distant 
a  day's  severe  travel.  In  that  advanced  season  the  par 
soon  passed  out  of  the  moist,  temperate  regions  of  the 
foothills  into  the  dry,  cold,  bracing  air  of  the  Sierras. 
The  trail  was  narrow  and  difficult.  At  noon  the  Duchess, 
rolling  out  of  her  saddle  upon  the  ground,  declared  her 
intention  of  going  no  farther,  and  the  party  halted. 

The  spot  was  singularly  wild  and  impressive.  A  wooded 
amphitheatre,  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  precipitous 
cliffs  of  naked  granite,  sloped  gently  toward  the  crest  of 
another  precipice  that  overlooked  the  valley.  Tt  was,  un- 
doubtedly, the  most  suitable  spot  for  a  camp,  had  camp- 


The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat  137 

ing  been  advisable.  But  Mr.  Oakhurst  knew  that  scarcely 
half  the  journey  to  Sandy  Bar  was  accomplished,  and  the 
party  were  not  equipped  or  provisioned  for  delay.  This 
fact  he  pointed  out  to  his  companions  curtly,  with  a  philo- 
sophic commentary  on  the  folly  of  "  throwing  up  their 
hand  before  the  game  was  played  out."  But  they  were 
furnished  with  liquor,  which  in  this  emergency  stood  them 
in  place  of  food,  fuel,  rest,  and  prescience.  In  spite  of 
his  remonstrances,  it  was  not  long  before  they  were  more 
or  less  under  its  influence.  Uncle  Billy  passed  rapidly 
from  a  bellicose  state  into  one  of  stupor,  the  Duchess 
became  maudlin,  and  Mother  Shipton  snored.  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst  alone  remained  erect,  leaning  against  a  rock,  calmly 
surveying  them. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  did  not  drink.  It  interfered  with  a  pro- 
fession which  required  coolness,  impassiveness,  and  pres- 
ence of  mind,  and,  in  his  own  language,  he  "  couldn't 
afford  it."  As  he  gazed  at  his  recumbent  fellow  exiles, 
the  loneliness  begotten  of  his  pariah  trade,  his  habits  of 
life,  his  very  vices,  for  the  first  time  seriously  oppressed 
him.  He  bestirred  himself  in  dusting  his  black  clothes, 
washing  his  hands  and  face,  and  other  acts  characteristic 
of  his  studiously  neat  habits,  and  for  a  moment  forgot  his 
annoyance.  The  thought  of  deserting  his  weaker  and 
more  pitiable  companions  never  perhaps  occurred  to  him. 
Yet  he  could  not  help  feeling  the  want  of  that  excitement 
which,  singularly  enough,  was  most  conducive  to  that 
calm  equanimity  for  which  he  was  notorious.  He  looked 
at  the  gloomy  walls  that  rose  a  thousand  feet  sheer  above 
the  circling  pines  around  him,  at  the  sky  ominously 
clouded,  at  the  valley  below,  already  deepening  into 
shadow ;  and,  doing  so,  suddenly  he  heard  his  own  name 
called. 


138  Bret  Harte 

A  horseman  slowly  ascended  the  trail.  In  the  fresh, 
open  face  of  the  newcomer  Mr.  Oakhurst  recognized  Tom 
Simson,  otherwise  known  as  "The  Innocent,"  of  Sandy 
Bar.  He  had  met  him  some  months  before  over  a  "  little 
game,"  and  had,  with  perfect  equanimity,  won  the  entire 
fortune  —  amounting  to  some  forty  dollars  —  of  that  guile- 
less youth.  After  the  game  was  finished,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
drew  the  youthful  speculator  behind  the  door  and  thus 
addressed  him :  "  Tommy,  you're  a  good  little  man,  but 
you  can't  gamble  worth  a  cent.  Don't  try  it  over  again." 
He  then  handed  him  his  money  back,  pushed  him  gently 
from  the  room,  and  so  made  a  devoted  slave  of  Tom 
Simson. 

There  was  a  remembrance  of  this  in  his  boyish  and 
enthusiastic  greeting  of  Mr.  Oakhurst.  He  had  started,  he 
said,  to  go  to  Poker  Flat  to  seek  his  fortune.  "  Alone  ?  " 
No,  not  exactly  alone ;  in  fact  (a  giggle),  he  had  run 
away  with  Piney  Woods.  Didn't  Mr.  Oakhurst  remember 
Piney  ?  She  that  used  to  wait  on  the  table  at  the  Tem- 
perance House  ?  They  had  been  engaged  a  long  time, 
but  old  Jake  Woods  had  objected,  and  so  they  had  run 
away,  and  were  going  to  Poker  Flat  to  be  married,  and 
here  they  were.  And  they  were  tired  out,  and  how  lucky 
it  was  they  had  found  a  place  to  camp,  and  company. 
All  this  the  Innocent  delivered  rapidly,  while  Piney,  a 
stout,  comely  damsel  of  fifteen,  emerged  from  "behind  the 
pine-tree,  where  she  had  been  blushing  unseen,  and  rode 
to  the  side  of  her  lover. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  seldom  troubled  himself  with  sentiment, 
still  less  with  propriety ;  but  he  had  a  vague  idea  that  the 
situation  was  not  fortunate.  He  retained,  however,  his 
presence  of  mind  sufficiently  to  kick  Uncle  Billy,  who  was 


The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat  139 

about  to  say  something,  and  Uncle  Billy  was  sober  enough 
to  recognize  in  Mr.  Oakhurst's  kick  a  superior  power  that 
would  not  bear  trifling.  He  then  endeavored  to  dissuade 
Tom  Simson  from  delaying  further,  but  in  vain.  He 
even  pointed  out  the  fact  that  there  was  no  provision,  nor 
means  of  making  a  camp.  But,  unluckily,  the  Innocent 
met  this  objection  by  assuring  the  party  that  he  was  pro- 
vided with  an  extra  mule  loaded  with  provisions,  and  by 
the  discovery  of  a  rude  attempt  at  a  log  house  near  the 
trail.  "  Piney  can  stay  with  Mrs.  Oakhurst,"  said  the 
Innocent,  pointing  to  the  Duchess,  "  and  I  can  shift  for 
myself." 

Nothing  but  Mr.  Oakhurst's  admonishing  foot  saved 
Uncle  Billy  from  bursting  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  As  it 
was,  he  felt  compelled  to  retire  up  the  canon  until  he 
could  recover  his  gravity.  There  he  confided  the  joke  to 
the  tall  pine-trees,  with  many  slaps  of  his  leg,  contortions 
of  his  face,  and  the  usual  profanity.  But  when  he  re- 
turned to  the  party,  he  found  them  seated  by  a  fire  —  for 
the  air  had  grown  strangely  chill  and  the  sky  overcast  — 
in  apparently  amicable  conversation.  Piney  was  actually 
talking  in  an  impulsive  girlish  fashion  to  the  Duchess, 
who  was  listening  with  an  interest  and  animation  she  had 
not  shown  for  many  days.  The  Innocent  was  holding 
forth,  apparently  with  equal  effect,  to  Mr.  Oakhurst  and 
Mother  Shipton,  who  was  actually  relaxing  into  amiability. 
"Is  this  yer  a  d — d  picnic?"  said  Uncle  Billy,  with  in- 
ward scorn,  as  he  surveyed  the  sylvan  group,  the  glancing 
firelight,  and  the  tethered  animals  in  the  foreground. 
Suddenly  an  idea  mingled  with  the  alcoholic  fumes  that 
disturbed  his  brain.  It  was  apparently  of  a  jocular 
nature,  for  he  felt  impelled  to  slap  his  leg  again  and  cram 
his  fist  into  his  mouth. 


140  Bret   Harte 

As  the  shadows  crept  slowly  up  the  mountain,  a  slight 
breeze  rocked  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees  and  moaned 
through  their  long  and  gloomy  aisles.  The  ruined  cabin, 
patched  and  covered  with  pine  boughs,  was  set  apart  for 
the  ladies.  As  the  lovers  parted,  they  unaffectedly  ex- 
changed a  kiss,  so  honest  and  sincere  that  it  might  have 
been  heard  above  the  swaying  pines.  The  frail  Duchess 
and  the  malevolent  Mother  Shipton  were  probably  too 
stunned  to  remark  upon  this  last  evidence  of  simplicity, 
and  so  turned  without  a  word  to  the  hut.  The  fire  was 
replenished,  the  men  lay  down  before  the  door,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  were  asleep. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  a  light  sleeper.  Toward  morning 
he  awoke  benumbed  and  cold.  As  he  stirred  the  dying 
fire,  the  wind,  which  was  now  blowing  strongly,  brought 
to  his  cheek  that  which  caused  the  blood  to  leave  it, — 
snow ! 

He  started  to  his  feet  with  the  intention  of  awakening 
the  sleepers,  for  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  But  turning 
to  where  Uncle  Billy  had  been  lying,  he  found  him  gone. 
A  suspicion  leaped  to  his  brain,  and  a  curse  to  his  lips. 
He  ran  to  the  spot  where  the  mules  had  been  tethered  - 
they  were  no  longer  there.  The  tracks  were  already 
rapidly  disappearing  in  the  snow. 

The  momentary  excitement  brought  Mr.  Oakhurst  back 
to  the  fire  with  his  usual  calm.  He  did  not  waken  the 
sleepers.  The  Innocent  slumbered  peacefully,  with  a 
smile  on  his  good-humored,  freckled  face ;  the  virgin  Piney 
slept  beside  her  frailer  sisters  as  sweetly  as  though  at- 
tended by  celestial  guardians  ;  and  Mr.  Oakhurst,  drawing 
his  blanket  over  his  shoulders,  stroked  his  mustaches  and 
waited  for  the  dawn.  It  came  slowly  in  a  whirling  mist 
of  snowflakes  that  dazzled  and  confused  the  eye.  What 


The  Outcasts  of  Poker   Flat  141 

could  be  seen  of  the  landscape  appeared  magically 
changed.  He  looked  over  the  valley,  and  summed  up  the 
present  and  future  in  two  words,  "Snowed  in !  " 

A  careful  inventory  of  the  provisions,  which,  fortunately 
for  the  party,  had  been  stored  within  the  hut,  and  so  es- 
caped the  felonious  fingers  of  Uncle  Billy,  disclosed  the 
fact  that  with  care  and  prudence  they  might  last  ten  days 
longer.  "That  is,"  said  Mr.  Oakhurst  sotto  voce  to  the 
Innocent,  "if  you're  willing  to  board  us.  If  you  ain't  — 
and  perhaps  you'd  better  not  —  you  can  wait  till  Uncle 
Billy  gets  back  with  provisions."  P'or  some  occult  reason, 
Mr.  Oakhurst  could  not  bring  himself  to  disclose  Uncle 
Billy's  rascality,  and  so  offered  the  hypothesis  that  he  had 
wandered  from  the  camp  and  had  accidentally  stampeded 
the  animals.  He  dropped  a  warning  to  the  Duchess  and 
Mother  Shipton,  who  of  course  knew  the  facts  of  their 
associate's  defection.  "  They'll  find  out  the  truth  about 
us  all  when  they  find  out  anything,"  he  added  signifi- 
cantly, "  and  there's  no  good  frightening  them  now." 

Tom  Simson  not  only  put  all  his  worldly  store  at  the 
disposal  of  Mr.  Oakhurst,  but  seemed  to  enjoy  the  pros- 
pect of  their  enforced  seclusion.  "We'll  have  a  good 
camp  for  a  week,  and  then  the  snow'll  melt,  and  we'll  all 
go  back  together."  The  cheerful  gayety  of  the  young  man 
and  Mr.  Oakhurst 's  calm  infected  the  others.  The  Inno- 
cent, with  the  aid  of  pine  boughs,  extemporized  a  thatch 
for  the  roofless  cabin,  and  the  Duchess  directed  Piney  in 
the  rearrangement  of  the  interior  with  a  taste  and  tact 
that  opened  the  blue  eyes  of  that  provincial  maiden  to 
their  fullest  extent.  "  I  reckon  now  you're  used  to  fine 
things  at  Poker  Flat,"  said  Piney.  The  Duchess  turned 
away  sharply  to  conceal  something  that  reddened  her 
cheeks  through  their  professional  tint,  and  Mother  Shipton 


142  Bret  Harte 

requested  Piney  not  to  "  chatter."  But  when  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst  returned  from  a  weary  search  for  the  trail,  he  heard 
the  sound  of  happy  laughter  echoed  from  the  rocks.  He 
stopped  in  some  alarm,  and  his  thoughts  first  naturally 
reverted  to  the  whiskey,  which  he  had  prudently  cached. 
"  And  yet  it  don't  somehow  sound  like  whiskey,"  said  the 
gambler.  It  was  not  until  he  caught  sight  of  the  blazing 
fire  through  the  still  blinding  storm,  and  the  group  around 
it,  that  he  settled  to  the  conviction  that  it  was  "  square  fun." 
Whether  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  cached  his  cards  with  the 
whiskey  as  something  debarred  the  free  access  of  the  com- 
munity, I  cannot  say.  It  was  certain  that,  in  Mother 
Shipton's  words,  he  "  didn't  say  '  cards '  once  "  during  that 
evening.  Haply  the  time  was  beguiled  by  an  accordion, 
produced  somewhat  ostentatiously  by  Tom  Simson  from 
his  pack.  Notwithstanding  some  difficulties  attending  the 
manipulation  of  this  instrument,  Piney  Woods  managed  to 
pluck  several  reluctant  melodies  from  its  keys,  to  an  ac- 
companiment by  the  Innocent  on  a  pair  of  bone  castanets. 
But  the  crowning  festivity  of  the  evening  was  reached  in  a 
rude  camp-meeting  hymn,  which  the  lovers,  joining  hands, 
sang  with  great  earnestness  and  vociferation.  I  fear  that 
a  certain  defiant  tone  and  Covenanter's  swing  to  its  chorus, 
rather  than  any  devotional  quality,  caused  it  speedily  to 
infect  the  others,  who  at  last  joined  in  the  refrain  :  — 

"  I'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I'm  bound'  to  die  in  His  army." 

The  pines  rocked,  the  storm  eddied  and  whirled  above  the 
miserable  group,  and  the  flames  of  their  altar  leaped 
heavenward,  as  if  in  token  of  the  vow. 

At  midnight  the  storm  abated,  the  rolling  clouds  parted, 
and  the  stars  glittered  keenly  above  the  sleeping  camp. 


The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat  143 

Mr.  Oakhurst,  whose  professional  habits  had  enabled  him 
to  live  on  the  smallest  possible  amount  of  sleep,  in  dividing 
the  watch  with  Tom  Simson  somehow  managed  to  take 
upon  himself  the  greater  part  of  that  duty.  He  excused 
himself  to  the  Innocent  by  saying  that  he  had  "often  been 
a  week  without  sleep."  "Doing  what?"  asked  Tom. 
"  Poker  !  "  replied  Oakhurst  sententiously.  "  When  a  man 
gets  a  streak  of  luck,  —  nigger-luck,  —  he  don't  get  tired. 
The  luck  gives  in  first.  Luck,"  continued  the  gambler 
reflectively,  "is  a  mighty  queer  thing.  All  you  know 
about  it  for  certain  is  that  it's  bound  to  change.  And  it's 
finding  out  when  it's  going  to  change  that  makes  you. 
We've  had  a  streak  of  bad  luck  since  we  left  Poker  Flat, 
— you  come  along,  and  slap  you  get  into  it,  too.  If  you 
can  hold  your  cards  right  along  you're  all  right.  For," 
added  the  gambler,  with  cheerful  irrelevance  — 

"  '  I'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army.'  " 

The  third  day  came,  and  the  sun,  looking  through  the 
white-curtained  valley,  saw  the  outcasts  divide  their  slowly 
decreasing  store  of  provisions  for  the  morning  meal.  It 
was  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  that  mountain  climate  that 
its  rays  diffused  a  kindly  warmth  over  the  wintry  land- 
scape, as  if  in  regretful  commiseration  of  the  past.  But  it 
revealed  drift  on  drift  of  snow  piled  high  around  the  hut, 
—  a  hopeless,  uncharted,  trackless  sea  of  white  lying  below 
the  rocky  shores  to  which  the  castaways  still  clung. 
Through  the  marvelously  clear  air  the  smoke  of  the  pas- 
toral village  of  Poker  Flat  rose  miles  away.  Mother 
Shipton  saw  it,  and  from  a  remote  pinnacle  of  her  rocky 
fastness  hurled  in  that  direction  a  final  malediction.  It 
was  her  last  vituperative  attempt,  and  perhaps  for  that 


144  Bret  Harte 

reason  was  invested  with  a  certain  degree  of  sublimity.  It 
did  her  good,  she  privately  informed  the  Duchess.  "  Just 
you  go  out  there  and  cuss,  and  see."  She  then  set  herself 
to  the  task  of  amusing  "  the  child,"  as  she  and  the  Duchess 
were  pleased  to  call  Piney.  Piney  was  no  chicken,  but  it 
was  a  soothing  and  original  theory  of  the  pair  thus  to  ac- 
count for  the  fact  that  she  didn't  swear  and  wasn't  improper. 

When  night  crept  up  again  through  the  gorges,  the  reedy 
notes  of  the  accordion  rose  and  fell  in  fitful  spasms  and 
^long-drawn  gasps  by  the  flickering  campfire.  But  music 
failed  to  fill  entirely  the  aching  void  left  by  insufficient 
food,  and  a  new  diversion  was  proposed  by  Piney,— 
story-telling.  Neither  Mr.  Oakhurst  nor  his  female  com- 
panions caring  to  relate  their  personal  experiences,  this 
plan  would  have  failed  too,  but  for  the  Innocent.  Some 
months  before  he  had  chanced  upon  a  stray  copy  of  Mr. 
Pope's  ingenious  translation  of  the  Iliad.  He  now  pro- 
posed to  narrate  the  principal  incidents  of  that  poem  — 
having  thoroughly  mastered  the  argument  and  fairly  for- 
gotten the  words — in  the  current  vernacular  of  Sandy 
Bar.  And  so  for  the  rest  of  that  night  the  Homeric  demi- 
gods again  walked  the  earth.  Trojan  bully  and  wily  Greek 
wrestled  in  the  winds,  and  the  great  pines  in  the  canon 
seemed  to  bow  to  the  wrath  of  the  son  of  Peleus.  Mr. 
Oakhurst  listened  with  quiet  satisfaction.  Most  especially 
was  he  interested  in  the  fate  of  "  Ash-heels,"  as  the  Inno- 
cent persisted  in  denominating  the  "  swift-footed  Achilles." 

So,  with  small  food  and  much  of  Homer  and  the  accor- 
dion, a  week  passed  over  the  heads  of  the  outcasts.  The 
sun  again  forsook  them,  and  again  from  leaden  skies  the 
snowflakes  were  sifted  over  the  land.  Day  by  day  closer 
around  them  drew  the  snowy  circle,  until  at  last  they 
looked  from  their  prison  over  drifted  walls  of  dazzling 


The   Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat  145 

white,  that  towered  twenty  feet  above  their  heads.  It 
became  more  and  more  difficult  to  replenish  their  fires, 
even  from  the  fallen  trees  beside  them,  now  half  hidden  in 
the  drifts.  And  yet  no  one  complained.  The  lovers 
turned  from  the  dreary  prospect  and  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  were  happy.  Mr.  Oakhurst  settled  him- 
self coolly  to  the  losing  game  before  him.  The  Duchess, 
more  cheerful  than  she  had  been,  assumed  the  care  of 
Piney.  Only  Mother  Shipton  —  once  the  strongest  of  the 
party  —  seemed  to  sicken  and  fade.  At  midnight  on  the 
tenth  day  she  called  Oakhurst  to  her  side.  "I'm  going," 
she  said,  in  a  voice  of  querulous  weakness,  "  but  don't  say 
anything  about  it.  Don't  waken  the  kids.  Take  the 
bundle  from  under  my  head,  and  open  it."  Mr.  Oakhurst 
did  so.  It  contained  Mother  Shipton's  rations  for  the  last 
week,  untouched.  "Give  'em  to  the  child,"  she  said, 
pointing  to  the  sleeping  Piney.  "  You've  starved  your- 
self," said  the  gambler.  "That's  what  they  call  it,"  said 
the  woman  querulously,  as  she  lay  down  again,  and,  turn- 
ing her  face  to  the  wall,  passed  quietly  away. 

The  accordion  and  the  bones  were  put  aside  that  day, 
and  Homer  was  forgotten.  When  the  body  of  Mother 
Shipton  had  been  committed  to  the  snow,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
took  the  Innocent  aside,  and  showed  him  a  pair  of  snow- 
shoes,  which  he  had  fashioned  from  the  old  pack-saddle. 
"  There's  one  chance  in  a  hundred  to  save  her  yet,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  Piney;  "but  it's  there,"  he  added,  point- 
ing toward  Poker  Flat.  "  If  you  can  reach  there  in  two 
days  she's  safe."  "  And  you  ?  "  asked  Tom  Simson.  "  I'll 
stay  here,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

The  lovers  parted  with  a  long  embrace.  "  You  are  not 
going,  too  ?  "  said  the  Duchess,  as  she  saw  Mr.  Oakhurst 
apparently  waiting  to  accompany  him.  "  As  far  as  the 


146  Bret   Harte 

canon,"  he  replied.  He  turned  suddenly  and  kissed  the 
Duchess,  leaving  her  pallid  face  aflame,  and  her  trembling 
limbs  rigid  with  amazement. 

Night  came,  but  not  Mr.  Oakhurst.  It  brought  the 
storm  again  and  the  whirling  snow.  Then  the  Duchess, 
feeding  the  fire,  found  that  some  one  had  quietly  piled 
beside  the  hut  enough  fuel  to  last  a  few  days  longer.  The 
tears  rose  to  her  eyes,  but  she  hid  them  from  Piney. 

The  women  slept  but  little.  In  the  morning,  looking 
into  each  other's  faces,  they  read  their  fate.  Neither 
spoke,  but  Piney,  accepting  the  position  of  the  stronger, 
drew  near  and  placed  her  arm  around  the  Duchess's  waist. 
They  kept  this  attitude  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  That  night 
the  storm  reached  its  greatest  fury,  and,  rending  asunder 
the  protecting  vines,  invaded  the  very  hut. 

Toward  morning  they  found  themselves  unable  to  feed 
the  fire,  which  gradually  died  away.  As  the  embers  slowly 
blackened,  the  Duchess  crept  closer  to  Piney,  and  broke 
the  silence  of  many  hours:  "  Piney,  can  you  pray?" 
"  No,  dear,"  said  Piney  simply.  The  Duchess,  without 
knowing  exactly  why,  felt  relieved,  and,  putting  her  head 
upon  Piney's  shoulder,  spoke  no  more.  And  so  reclining, 
the  younger  and  purer  pillowing  the  head  of  her  soiled  sis- 
ter upon  her  virgin  breast,  they  fell  asleep. 

The  wind  lulled  as  if  it  feared  to  waken  them.  Feath- 
ery drifts  of  snow,  shaken  from  the  long  pine  boughs,  flew 
like  white  winged  birds,  and  settled  about  them  as  they 
slept.  The  moon  through  the  rifted  clouds  looked  down 
upon  what  had  been  the  camp.  But  all  human  stain,  all 
trace  of  earthly  travail,  was  hidden  beneath  the  spotless 
mantle  mercifully  flung  from  above. 

They  slept  all  that  day  and  the  next,  nor  did  they  waken 
when  voices  and  footsteps  broke  the  silence  of  the  camp. 


The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat  147 

And  when  pitying  fingers  brushed  the  snow  from  their 
wan  faces,  you  could  scarcely  have  told  from  the  equal 
peace  that  dwelt  upon  them  which  was  she  that  had  sinned. 
Even  the  law  of  Poker  Flat  recognized  this,  and  turned 
away,  leaving  them  still  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

But  at  the  head  of  the  gulch,  on  one  of  the  largest  pine- 
trees,  they  found  the  deuce  of  clubs  pinned  to  the  bark  with 
a  bowie-knife.  It  bore  the  following,  written  in  pencil  in  a 
firm  hand :  — 

t 

BENEATH    THIS    TREE 

LIES    THE   BODY 

OF 

JOHN   OAKHURST, 

WHO    STRUCK    A    STREAK    OF    BAD    LUCK 
ON    THE   23D    OF    NOVEMBER    1850, 

AND 

HANDED    IN    HIS    CHECKS 
ON    THE    7TH    DECEMBER,    1850. 


And  pulseless  and  cold,  'with  a  Derringer  by  his  side  and  a 
bullet  in  his  heart,  though  still  calm  as  in  life,  beneath  the 
snow  lay  he  who  was  at  once  the  strongest  and  yet  the 
weakest  of  the  outcasts  of  Poker  Flat. 


THE  SIRE  DE  MALETROIT'S  DOOR 

Denis  de  Beaulieu  was  not  yet  two-and-twenty,  but  he 
counted  himself  a  grown  man,  and  a  very  accomplished 
cavalier  into  the  bargain.  Lads  were  early  formed  in  that 
rough,  warfaring  epoch ;  and  when  one  has  been  in  a 
pitched  battle  and  a  dozen  raids,  has  killed  one's  man  in 
an  honorable  fashion,  and  knows  a  thing  or  two  of  strategy 
and  mankind,  a  certain  swagger  in  the  gait  is  surely  to  be 
pardoned.  He  had  put  up  his  horse  with  due  care,  and 
supped  with  due  deliberation  ;  and  then,  in  a  very  agreeable 
frame  of  mind,  went  out  to  ^>ay  a  visit  in  the  gray  of  the 
evening.  It  was  not  a  very  wise  proceeding  on  the  young 
man's  part.  He  would  have  done  better  to  remain  beside 
the  fire  or  go  decently  to  bed.  For  the  town  was  full  of 
the  troops  of  Burgundy  and  England  under  a  mixed  com- 
mand ;  and  though  Denis  was  there  on  safe-conduct,  his 
safe-conduct  was  like  to  serve  him  little  on  a  chance 
encounter. 

It  was  September,  1429  ;  the  weather  had  fallen  sharp; 
a  flighty  piping  wind,  laden  with  showers,  beat  about  the 
township  ;  and  the  dead  leaves  ran  riot  along  the  streets. 
Here  and  there  a  window  was  already  lighted  up  ;  and  the 
noise  of  men-at-arms  making  merry  over  supper  within 
came  forth  in  fits  and  was  swallowed  up  and  carried  away 
by  the  wind.  The  night  fell  swiftly  ;  the  flag  of  England, 
fluttering  on  the  spire  top,  grew  ever  fainter  and  fainter 
against  the  flying  clouds  —  a  black  speck  like  a  swallow  ii 

148 


ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  149 

the  tumultuous,  leaden  chaos  of  the  sky.  As  the  night  fell 
the  wind  rose,  and  began  to  hoot  under  archways  and  roar 
amid  the  tree-tops  in  the  valley  below  the  town. 

Denis  de  Beaulieu  walked  fast  and  was  soon  knocking  at 
his  friend's  door ;  but  though  he  promised  himself  to  stay 
only  a  little  wrhile  and  make  an  early  return,  his  welcome 
was  so  pleasant,  and  he  found  so  much  to  delay  him,  that 
it  was  already  long  past  midnight  before  he  said  good-by 
upon  the  threshold.  The  wind  had  fallen  again  in  the 
meanwhile ;  the  night  was  as  black  as  the  grave ;  not  a 
star,  nor  a  glimmer  of  moonshine,  slipped  through  the 
canopy  of  cloud.  Denis  was  ill-acquainted  with  the  intri- 
cate lanes  of  Chateau  Landon ;  even  by  daylight  he  had 
found  some  trouble  in  picking  his  way  ;  and  in  this  absolute 
darkness  he  soon  lost  it  altogether.  He  was  certain  of  one 
thing  only  —  to  keep  mounting  the  hill;  for  his  friend's 
house  lay  at  the  lower  end,  or  tail,  of  Chateau  Landon, 
while  the  inn  was  up  at  the  head,  under  the  great  church 
spire.  With  this  clew  to  go  upon  he  stumbled  and  groped 
forward,  now  breathing  more  freely  in  the  open  places*" 
where  there  was  a  good  slice  of  sky  overhead,  now  feeling 
along  the  wall  in  stifling  closes.  It  is  an  eerie  and  mysteri- 
ous position  to  be  thus  submerged  in  opaque  blackness  in 
an  almost  unknown  town.  The  silence  is  terrifying  in  its 
possibilities.  The  touch  of  cold  window  bars  to  the  ex- 
ploring hand  startles  the  man  like  the  touch  of  a  toad ;  the 
inequalities  of  the  pavement  shake  his  heart  into  his  mouth  ; 
a  piece  of  denser  darkness  threatens  an  ambuscade  or  a 
chasm  in  the  pathway ;  and  where  the  air  is  brighter,  the 
houses  put  on  strange  and  bewildering  appearances,  as  if 
to  lead  him  further  from  his  way.  For  Denis,  who  had  to 
regain  his  inn  without  attracting  notice,  there  was  real 
danger  as  well  as  mere  discomfort  in  the  walk ;  and  he 


150  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

went  warily  and  boldly  at  once,  and  at  every  corner  paused 
to  make  an  observation. 

He  had  been  for  some  time  threading  a  lane  so  narrow 
that  he  could  touch  a  wall  with  either  hand,  when  it  began 
to  open  out  and  go  sharply  downward.  Plainly  this  lay  no 
longer  in  the  direction  of  his  inn ;  but  the  hope  of  a  little 
more  light  tempted  him  forward  to  reconnoitre.  The  lane 
ended  in  a  terrace  with  a  bartizan  wall,  which  gave  an  out- 
look between  high  houses,  as  out  of  an  embrasure,  into  the 
valley  lying  dark  and  formless  several  hundred  feet  below. 
Denis  looked  down,  and  could  discern  a  few  tree-tops  wav- 
ing and  a  single  speck  of  brightness  where  the  river  ran 
across  a  weir.  The  weather  was  clearing  up,  and  the  sky 
had  lightened,  so  as  to  show  the  outline  of  the  heavier 
clouds  and  the  dark  margin  of  the  hills.  By  the  uncertain 
glimmer,  the  house  on  his  left  hand  should  be  a  place  of 
some  pretensions ;  it  was  surmounted  by  several  pinnacles 
and  turret-tops  ;  the  round  stern  of  a  chapel,  with  a  fringe 
of  flying  buttresses,  projected  boldly  from  the  main  block ; 
and  the  door  was  sheltered  under  a  deep  porch  carved  with 
figures  and  overhung  by  two  long  gargoyles.  The  windows 
of  the  chapel  gleamed  through  their  intricate  tracery  with 
a  light  as  of  many  tapers,  and  threw  out  the  buttresses  and 
the  peaked  roof  in  a  more  intense  blackness  against  the 
sky.  It  was  plainly  the  hotel  of  some  great  family  of  the 
neighborhood ;  and  as  it  reminded  Denis  of  a  town  house 
of  his  own  at  Bourges,  he  stood  for  some  time  gazing  up  at 
it  and  mentally  gauging  the  skill  of  the  architects  and  the 
consideration  of  the  two  families. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  issue  to  the  terrace  but  the  lane 
by  which  he  had  reached  it ;  he  could  only  retrace  his  steps, 
but  he  had  gained  some  notion  of  his  whereabouts,  and 
hoped  by  this  means  to  hit  the  main  thoroughfare  and 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  151 

speedily  regain  the  inn.  He  was  reckoning  without  that 
chapter  of  accidents  which  was  to  make  this  night  mem- 
orable above  all  others  in  his  career ;  for  he  had  not  gone 
back  above  a  hundred  yards  before  he  saw  a  light  coming 
to  meet  him,  and  heard  loud  voices  speaking  together  in 
the  echoing  narrows  of  the  lane.  It  was  a  party  of  men-at- 
arms  going  the  night  round  with  torches.  Denis  assured 
himself  that  they  had  all  been  making  free  with  the  wine 
bowl,  and  were  in  no  mood  to  be  particular  about  safe-con- 
ducts or  the  niceties  of  chivalrous  war.  It  was  as  like  as 
not  that  they  would  kill  him  like  a  dog  and  leave  him 
where  he  fell.  The  situation  was  inspiriting  but  nervous. 
Their  own  torches  would  conceal  him  from  sight,  he  re- 
flected ;  and  he  hoped  that  they  would  drown  the  noise  of 
his  footsteps  with  their  own  empty  voices.  It  he  were  but 
fleet  and  silent,  he  might  evade  their  notice  altogether. 

Unfortunately,  as  he  turned  to  beat  a  retreat,  his  foot 
rolled  upon  a  pebble  ;  he  fell  against  the  wall  with  an  ejac- 
ulation, and  his  sword  rang  loudly  on  the  stones.  Two  or 
three  voices  demanded  who  went  there  —  some  in  French, 
some  in  English ;  but  Denis  made  no  reply,  and  ran  the 
faster  down  the  lane.  Once  upon  the  terrace,  he  paused  to 
look  back.  They  still  kept  calling  after  him,  and  just  then 
began  to  double  the  pace  in  pursuit,  with  a  considerable 
clank  of  armor,  and  great  tossing  of  the  torchlight  to  and 
fro  in  the  narrow  jaws  of  the  passage. 

Denis  cast  a  look  around  and  darted  into  the  porch. 
There  he  might  escape  observation,  or  —  if  that  were  too 
much  to  expect  —  was  in  a  capital  posture  whether  for  par- 
ley or  defence.  So  thinking,  he  drew  his  sword  and  tried 
to  set  his  back  against  the  door.  To  his  surprise  it  yielded 
behind  his  weight ;  and  though  he  turned  in  a  moment, 
continued  to  swing  back  on  oiled  and  noiseless  hinges  until 


152  Robert   Louis  Stevenson 

it  stood  wide  open  on  a  black  interior.  When  things  fall 
out  opportunely  for  the  person  concerned,  he  is  not  apt  to 
be  critical  about  the  how  or  why,  his  own  immediate  per- 
sonal convenience  seeming  a  sufficient  reason  for  the 
strangest  oddities  and  revolutions  in  our  sublunary  things  ; 
and  so  Denis,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  stepped  within 
and  partly  closed  the  door  behind  him  to  conceal  his  place 
.  of  refuge.  Nothing  was  further  from  his  thoughts  than  to 
close  it  altogether  ;  but  for  some  inexplicable  reason  —  per- 
haps by  a  spring  or  a  weight  —  the  ponderous  mass  of  oak 
whipped  itself  out  of  his  fingers  and  clanked  to,  with  a 
formidable  rumble  and  a  noise  like  the  falling  of  an  auto- 
matic bar. 

The  round,  at  that  very  moment,  debouched  upon  the 
terrace  and  proceeded  to  summon  him  with  shouts  and 
curses.  He  heard  them  ferreting  in  the  dark  corners  ;  the 
stock  of  a  lance  even  rattled  along  the  outer  surface  of  the 
door  behind  which  he  stood ;  but  these  gentlemen  were  in 
too  high  a  humor  to  be  long  delayed,  and  soon  made  off 
down  a  corkscrew  pathway  which  had  escaped  Denis'  ob- 
servation, and  passed  out  of  sight  and  hearing  along  the 
battlements  of  the  town. 

Denis  breathed  again.  He  gave  them  a  few  minutes' 
grace  for  fear  of  accidents,  and  then  groped  about  for  some 
means  of  opening  the  door  and  slipping  forth  again.  The 
inner  surface  was  quite  smooth,  not  a  handle,  not  a  mould- 
ing, not  a  projection  of  any  sort.  He  got  his  finger  nails 
round  the  edges  and  pulled,  but  the  mass  was  immovable. 
He  shook  it,  it  was  as  firm  as  a  rock.  Denis  de  Beaulieu 
frowned  and  gave  vent  to  a  little  noiseless  whistle.  What 
ailed  the  door  ?  he  wondered.  Why  was  it  open  ?  How 
came  it  to  shut  so  easily  and  so  effectually  after  him  ? 
There  was  something  obscure  and  underhand  about  all 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  153 

this,  that  was  little  to  the  young  man's  fancy.  It  looked 
like  a  snare,  and  yet  who  could  suppose  a  snare  in  such  a 
quiet  by-street  and  in  a  house  of  so  prosperous  and  even 
noble  an  exterior?  And  yet  —  snare  or  no  snare,  intention- 
ally or  unintentionally  —  here  he  was,  prettily  trapped  ;  and 
for  the  life  of  him  he  could  see  no  way  out  of  it  again.  The 
darkness  began  to  weigh  upon  him.  He  gave  ear  ;  all  was 
silent  without,  but  within  and  close  by  he  seemed  to  catch 
a  faint  sighing,  a  faint  sobbing  rustle,  a  little  stealthy  creak 
—  as  though  many  persons  were  at  his  side,  holding  them- 
selves quite  still,  and  governing  even  their  respiration  with 
the  extreme  of  slyness.  The  idea  went  to  his  vitals  with  a 
shock,  and  he  faced  about  suddenly  as  if  to  defend  his  life. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  became  aware  of  a  light  about 
the  level  of  his  eyes  and  at  some  distance  in  the  interior  of 
the  house  —  a  vertical  thread  of  light,  widening  toward  the 
bottom,  such  as  might  escape  between  two  wings  of  arras 
over  a  doorway. 

To  see  anything  was  a  relief  to  Denis  ;  it  was  like  a*piece 
of  solid  ground  to  a  man  laboring  in  a  morass  ;  his  mind 
seized  upon  it  with  avidity ;  and  he  stood  staring  at  it  and 
trying  to  piece  together  some  logical  conception  of  his  sur- 
roundings. Plainly  there  was  a  flight  of  steps  ascending 
from  his  own  level  to  that  of  this  illuminated  doorway,  and 
indeed  he  thought  he  could  make  out  another  thread  of 
light,  as  fine  as  a  needle  and  as  faint  as  phosphorescence, 
which  might  very  well  be  reflected  along  the  polished  wood 
of  a  handrail.  Since  he  had  begun  to  suspect  that  he  was 
not  alone,  his  heart  had  continued  to  beat  with  smothering 
violence,  and  an  intolerable  desire  for  action  of  any  sort  had 
possessed  itself  of  his  spirit.  He  was  in  deadly  peril,  he 
believed.  What  could  be  more  natural  than  to  mount  the 
staircase,  lift  the  curtain,  and  confront  his  difficulty  at 


154  Robert   Louis   Stevenson 

once  ?  At  least  he  would  be  dealing  with  something  tangi- 
ble ;  at  least  he  would  be  no  longer  in  the  dark.  J  He 
stepped  slowly  forward  with  outstretched  hands,  until  his 
foot  struck  the  bottom  step ;  then  he  rapidly  scaled  the 
stairs,  stood  for  a  moment  to  compose  his  expression,  lifted 
the  arras  and  went  in. 

He  found  himself  in  a  large  apartment  of  polished  stone. 
There  were  three  doors,  one  on  each  of  three  sides,  all 
similarly  curtained  with  tapestry.  The  fourth  side  was 
occupied  by  two  large  windows  and  a  great  stone  chimney- 
piece,  carved  with  the  arms  of  the  Male"troits.  Denis  rec- 
ognized the  Searings,  and  was  gratified  to  find  himself  in 
such  good  hands.  The  room  was  strongly  illuminated ; 
but  it  contained  little  furniture  except  a  heavy  table  and 
a  chair  or  two ;  the  hearth  was  innocent  of  fire,  and  the 
pavement  was  but  sparsely  strewn  with  rushes  clearly  many 
days  old. 

On  a  high  chair  beside  the  chimney,  and  directly  facing 
Denis  as  he  entered,  sat  a  little  old  gentleman  in  a  fur 
tippet.  He  sat  with  his  legs  crossed  and  his  hands  folded, 
and  a  cup  of  spiced  wine  stood  by  his  elbow  on  a  bracket  on 
the  wall.  His  countenance  had  a  strong  masculine  cast ; 
not  properly  human,  but  such  as  we  see  in  the  bull,  the  goat, 
or  the  domestic  boar  ;  something  equivocal  and  wheedling, 
something  greedy,  brutal  and  dangerous.  The  upper  lip 
was  inordinately  full,  as  though  swollen  by  a  blow  or  a 
toothache  ;  and  the  smile,  the  peaked  eyebrows,  and  the 
small,  strong  eyes  were  quaintly  and  almost  comically  evil 
in  expression.  Beautiful  white  hair  hung  straight  all  round 
his  head,  like  a  saint's  'and  fell  in  a  single  curl  upon  the 
tippet.  His  beard  and  mustache  were  the  pink  of  vener- 
able sweetness.  Age,  probably  in  consequence  of  inor- 
dinate precautions,  had  left  no  mark  upon  his  hands ;  and 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  155 

the  Mal^troit  hand  was  famous.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
imagine  anything  at  once  so  fleshy  and  so  delicate  in  de- 
sign ;  the  taper,  sensual  fingers  were  like  those  of  one  of 
Leonardo's  women  ;  the  fork  of  the  thumb  made  a  dimpled 
protuberance  when  closed  ;  the  nails  were  perfectly  shaped, 
and  of  a  dead,  surprising  whiteness.  It  rendered  his  as- 
pect tenfold  more  redoubtable,  that  a  man  with  hands  like 
these  should  keep  them  devoutly  folded  like  a  virgin  mar- 
tyr—  that  a  man  with  so  intent  and  startling  an  expression 
of  face  should  sit  patiently  on  his  seat  and  contemplate 
people  with  an  unwinking  stare,  like  a  god,  or  a  god's 
statue.  His  quiescence  seemed  ironical  and  treacherous,  it 
fitted  so  poorly  with  his  looks. 

Such  was  Alain,  Sire  de  Male"troit. 

Denis  and  he  looked  silently  at  each  other  for  a  second  or 
two. 

"  Pray  step  in,"  said  the  Sire  de  Mal^troit.  "  I  have 
been  expecting  you  all  the  evening." 

He  had  not  risen,  but  he  accompanied  his  words  with  a 
smile  and  a  slight  but  courteous  inclination  of  the  head. 
Partly  from  the  smile,  partly  from  the  strange  musical 
murmur  with  which  the  sire  prefaced  his  observation, 
Denis  felt  a  strong  shudder  of  disgust  go  through  his 
marrow.  And  what  with  disgust  and  honest  confusion 
of  mind,  he  could  scarcely  get  words  together  in 
reply. 

"  I  fear,"  he  said,  "  that  this  is  a  double  accident.  I  am 
not  the  person  you  suppose  me.  It  seems  you  were  look- 
ing for  a  visit ;  but  for  my  part,  nothing  was  further  from 
my  thoughts  —  nothing  colild  be  more  contrary  to  my 
wishes  —  than  this  intrusion." 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  the  old  gentleman  indulgently, 
"  here  you  are,  which  is  the  main  point.  Seat  yourself, 


156  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

my  friend,  and  put  yourself  entirely  at  your  ease.  We 
shall  arrange  our  little  affairs  presently."  1 

Denis  perceived  that  the  matter  was  still  complicated 
with  some  misconception,  and  he  hastened  to  continue 
his  explanation. 

"  Your  door,"  he  began. 

"  About  my  door  ?  "  asked  the  other  raising  his  peaked 
eyebrows.  "  A  little  piece  of  ingenuity."  And  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  A  hospitable  fancy  !  By  your 
own  account,  you  were  not  desirous  of  making  my  ac- 
quaintance. We  old  people  look  for  such  reluctance  now 
and  then  ;  when  it  touches  our  honor,  we  cast  about  until 
we  find  some  way  of  overcoming  it.  '  You  arrive  uninvited, 
but  believe  me,  very  welcome." 

"  You  persist  in  error,  sir,"  said  Denis.  "  There  can  be 
no  question  between  you  and  me.  I  am  a  stranger  in  this 
countryside.  My  name  is  Denis,  damoiseau  de  Beaulieu. 
If  you  see  me  in  your  house  it  is  only —  " 

"My  young  friend,"  interrupted  the  other,  "you  will 
permit  me  to  have  my  own  ideas  on  that  subject.  They 
probably  differ  from  yours  at  the  present  moment,"  he 
added  with  a  leer,  "  but  time  will  show  which  of  us  is  in  the 
right." 

Denis  was  convinced  he  had  to  do  with  a  lunatic.  He 
seated  himself  with  a  shrug,  content  to  wait  the  upshot ; 
and  a  pause  ensued,  during  which  he  thought  he  could 
distinguish  a  hurried  gabbling  as  of  a  prayer  from  behind 
the  arras  immediately  opposite  him.  Sometimes  there 
seemed  to  be  but  one  person  engaged,  sometimes  two  ;  and 
the  vehemence  of  the  voice,  low* as  it  was,  seemed  to  indi- 
cate either  great  haste  or  an  agony  of  spirit.  It  occurred 
to  him  that  this  piece  of  tapestry  covered  the  entrance  to 
the  chapel  he  had  noticed  from  without. 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  157 


The  old  gentleman  meanwhile  surveyed  Denis  from  head 
to  foot  with  a  smile,  and  from  time  to  time  emitted  little 
noises  like  a  bird  or  a  mouse,  which  seemed  to  indicate  a 
high  degree  of  satisfaction.  This  state  of  matters  became 
rapidly  insupportable  ;  and  Denis,  to  put  an  end  to  it,  re- 
marked politely  that  the  wind  had  gone  down. 

The  old  gentleman  fell  into  a  fit  of  silent  laughter,  so  pro- 
longed and  violent  that  he  became  quite  red  in  the  face. 
Denis  got  upon  his  feet  at  once,  and  put  on  his  hat  with  a 
flourish. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  if  you  are  in  your  wits,  you  have  af- 
fronted me  grossly.  If  you  are  out  of  them,  I  flatter  my- 
self I  can  find  better  employment  for  my  brains  than  to 
talk  with  lunatics.  My  conscience  is  clear ;  you  have 
made  a  fool  of  me  from  the  first  moment ;  you  have  re- 
fused to  hear  my  explanations  ;  and  now  there  is  no  power 
under  God  will  make  me  stay  here  any  longer ;  and  if  I 
cannot  make  my  way  out  in  a  more  decent  fashion,  I  will 
hack  your  door  in  pieces  with  my  sword." 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  raised  his  right  hand  and  wagged 
it  at  Denis  with  the  fore  and  little  fingers  extended. 

"  My  dear  nephew,"  he  said,  "  sit  down." 

"  Nephew  !  "  retorted  Denis,  "  you  lie  in  your  throat ;  " 
andjie  snapped  his  fingers  in  his  face. 

"  Sit  down,  you  rogue !  "  cried  the  old  gentleman,  in  a 
sudden,  harsh  voice  like  the  barking  of  a  dog.  "  Do  you 
fancy,"  he  went  on,  "  that  when  I  had  made  my  little  con- 
trivance for  the  door  I  had  stopped  short  with  that  ?  If 
you  prefer  to  be  bound  hand  and  foot  till  your  bones  ache, 
rise  and  try  to  go  away.  If  you  choose  to  remain  a  free 
young  buck,  agreeably  conversing  with  an  old  gentle- 
man —  why,  sit  where  you  are  in  peace,  and  God  be  with 
you." 


158  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

"  Do  you  mean  I  am  a  prisoner  ?  "  demanded  Denis. 

"  I  state  the  facts,"  replied  the  other.  "I  would  rather 
leave  the  conclusion  to  yourself." 

Denis  sat  down  again.  Externally  he  managed  to  keep 
pretty  calm,  but  within,  he  was  now  boiling  with  anger, 
now  chilled  with  apprehension.  He  no  longer  felt  con- 
vinced that  he  was  dealing  with  a  madman.  And  if  the  old 
gentleman  was  sane,  what,  in  God's  name,  had  he  to  look 
for?  What  absurd  or  tragical  adventure  had  befallen 
him  ?  What  countenance  was  he  to  assume  ? 

While  he  was  thus  unpleasantly  reflecting,  [the  arras  that 
overhung  the  chapel  door  was  raised,  and  a  tall  priest  in 
his  robes  came  forth,  and,  giving  a  long,  keen  stare  at  Denis, 
said  something  in  an  undertone  to  Sire  de  Maltooit. 

"  She  is  in  a  better  frame  of  spirit  ?  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  She  is  more  resigned,  messire,"  replied  the  priest. 

"  Now  the  Lord  help  her,  she  is  hard  to  please  !  "  sneered 
the  old  gentleman.  "A  likely  stripling — not  ill-born  — 
and  of  her  own  choosing,  too  ?  Why,  what  more  would  the 
jade  have  ?  " 

"  The  situation  is  not  usual  for  a  young  damsel,"  said  the 
other,  "  and  somewhat  trying  to  her  blushes." 

"  She  should  have  thought  of  that  before  she  began  the 
dance  !  It  was  none  of  my  choosing,  God  knows  that ;  but 
since  she  is  in  it,  by  our  Lady,  she  shall  carry  it  to  the  end." 
And  then  addressing  Denis,  "  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,"  he 
asked,  "  may  I  present  you  to  my  niece  ?  She  has  been 
waiting  your  arrival,  I  may  say,  with  even  greater  impa- 
tience than  myself." 

Denis  had  resigned  himself  with  a  good  grace  —  all  he 
desired  was  to  know  the  worst  of  it  as  speedily  as  possible  ; 
so  he  rose  at  once,  and  bowed  in  acquiescence.  The  Sire 
de  Male'troit  followed  his  example  and  limped,  with  the 


ass 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  159 


istance  of  the  chaplain's  arm,  toward  the  chapel  door. 
The  priest  pulled  aside  the  arras,  and  all  three  entered. 
The  building  had  considerable  architectural  pretensions. 
A.  light  groining  sprung  from  six  stout  columns,  and  hung 
down  in  two  rich  pendants  from  the  centre  of  the  vault. 
The  place  terminated  behind  the  altar  in  a  round  end,  em- 
bossed and  honeycombed  with  a  superfluity  of  ornament 
in  relief,  and  pierced  by  many  little  windows  shaped  like 
stars,  trefoils,  or  wheels.  These  windows  were  imperfectly 
glazed,  so  that  the  night  air  circulated  freely  in  the  chapel. 
The  tapers,  of  which  there  must  have  been  half  a  hundred 
burning  on  the  altar,  were  unmercifully  blo\vn  about ;  and 
:he  light  went  through  many  different  phases  of  brilliancy 
ind  semi-eclipse.  (On  the  steps  in  front  of  the  altar  knelt  a 
poung  girl  richly  attired  as  a  bride.  A  chill  settled  over 
Denis  as  he  observed  her  costume ;  he  fought  with  desper- 
ate energy  against  the  conclusion  that  was  being  thrust 
upon  his  mind  ;  it  could  not  —  it  should  not  —  be  as  he 
[eared. 

"  Blanche,"  said  the  sire,  in  his  most  flute-like  tones, "  I 
have  brought  a  friend  to  see  you,  my  little  girl ;  turn  round 
and  give  him  your  pretty  hand.  It  is  good  to  be  devout ; 
but  it  is  necessary  to  be  polite,  my  niece. " 

The  girl  rose  to  her  feet  and  turned  toward  the  new- 
comers. She  moved  all  of  a  piece  ;  and  shame  and  exhaus- 
tion were  expressed  in  every  line  of  her  fresh  young  body; 
and  she  held  her  head  down  and  kept  her  eyes  upon  the 
pavement,  as  she  came  slowly  forward.  In  the  course  of 
her  advance  her  eyes  fell  upon  Denis  de  Beaulieu's  feet  — 
feet  of  which  he  was  justly  vain,  be  it  remarked,  and  wore 
in  the  most  elegant  accoutrement  even  while  travelling. 
She  paused  —  started,  as  if  his  yellow  boots  had  conveyed 
some  shocking  meaning  —  and  glanced  suddenly  up  into 


160  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

the  wearer's  countenance.  Their  eyes  met :  shame  gave 
place  to  horror  and  terror  in  her  looks ;  the  blood  left  her 
lips,  with  a  piercing  scream  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  sank  upon  the  chapel  floor. 

"  That  is  not  the  man  !  "  she  cried.  "  My  uncle,  that  is 
not  the  man  ! ' ' 

The  Sire  de  Male"troit  chirped  agreeably.  "  Of  course 
not,"  he  said;  "I  expected  as  much.  It  was  so  unfor- 
tunate you  could  not  remember  his  name." 

"  Indeed,"  she  cried,  "  indeed,  I  have  never  seen  this 
person  till  this  moment — I  have  never  so  much  as  set  eyes 
upon  him — I  never  wish  to  see  him  again.  Sir,"  she 
said,  turning  to  Denis,  "  if  you  are  a  gentleman,  you  will 
bear  me  out.  Have  I  ever  seen  you —  have  you  ever  seen 
me  —  before  this  accursed  hour?  " 

"To  speak  for  myself,  I  have  never  had  that  pleasure," 
answered  the  young  man.  ."This  is  the  first  time,  mes- 
sire,  that  I  have  met  with  your  engaging  niece." 

The  old  gentleman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  am  distressed  to  hear  it,"  he  said.  "  But  it  is  never 
too  late  to  begin.  I  had  little  more  acquaintance  with  my 
own  late  lady  ere  I  married  her  ;\  which  proves,"  he  added, 
with  a  grimace,  "  that  these  impromptu  marriages  may 
often  produce  an  excellent  understanding  in  the  long  run. 
As  the  bridegroom  is  to  have  a  voice  in  the  matter,  I  will 
give  him  two  hours  to  make  up  for  lost  time  before  we  pro- 
ceed with  the  ceremony."  And  he  turned  toward  the  door, 
followed  by  the  clergyman. 

The  girl  was  on  her  feet  in  a  moment.  "  My  uncle,  you 
cannot  be  in  earnest,"  she  said.  "  I  declare  before  God  I 
will  stab  myself  rather  than  be  forced  on  that  young  man. 
The  heart  rises  at  it ;  God  forbids  such  marriages  ;  you 
dishonor  your  white  hair.  Oh,  my  uncle,  pity  me  1  There 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  161 

is  not  a  woman  in  all  the  world  but  would  prefer  death  to 
such  a  nuptial.  Is  it  possible,"  she  added,  faltering —  "  is 
it  possible  that  you  do  not  believe  me  —  that  you  still  think 
this  "  and  she  pointed  at  Denis  with  a  tremor  of  anger 
md  contempt  —  "  that  you  still  think  this  to  be  the  man?  " 

"  Frankly,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  pausing  on  the 
threshold,  "  I  do.  But  let  me  explain  to  you  once  for  all, 
Blanche  de  Male"troit,  my  way  of  thinking  about  this  affair. 
When  you  took  it  into  your  head  to  dishonor  my  family 
md  the  name  that  I  have  borne,  in  peace  and  war,  for 
nore  than  threescore  years,  you  forfeited,  not  only  the 
•ight  to  question  my  designs,  but  that  of  looking  me  in  the 
:ace.  If  your  father  had  been  alive,  he  would  have  spat  on 
foil  and  turned  you  out  of  doors.  His  was  the  hand  of 
ron.  You  may  bless  your  God  you  have  only  to  deal  with 
;he  hand,  of  velvet,  mademoiselle.  It  was  my  duty  to  get 
fou  married  without  delay.  Out  of  pure  goodwill,  I  have 
;ried  to  find  your  own  gallant  for  you.  And  I  believe  I 
lave  succeeded.  But  before  God  and  all  the  holy  angels, 
Blanche  de  Male"troit,  if  I  have  not,  I  care  not  one  jack- 
>traw.  So  let  me  recommend  you  to  be  polite  to  our  young 
riend ;  for,  upon  my  word,  your  next  groom  may  be  less 
ippetizing." 

And  with  that  he  went  out,  with  the  chaplain  at  his 
leels  ;  and  the  arras  fell  behind  the  pair. 

The  girl  turned  upon  Denis  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  And  what,  sir,"  she  demanded,  "  may  be  the  meaning 
>£  all  this?" 

"  God  knows,"  returned  Denis,  gloomily.  "  I  am  a  pris- 
oner in  this  house,  which  seems  full  of  mad  people.  More 
[  know  not ;  and  nothing  do  I  understand." 

"  And  pray  how  came  you  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  told  her  as  briefly  as  he  could.     "For  the  rest,"  he 


1 6i  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

added,  "  perhaps  you  will  follow  my  example,  and  tell  me 
the  answer  to  all  these  riddles,  and  what,  in  God's  name,  is 
like  to  be  the  end  of  it." 

She  stood  silent  for  a  little,  and  he  could  see  her  lips 
tremble  and  her  tearless  eyes  burn  with  a  feverish  lustre 
Then  she  pressed  her  forehead  in  both  hands. 

"  Alas,  how  my  head  aches  !  "  she  said,  wearily  —  "  tc 
say  nothing  of  my  poor  heart !  But  it  is  due  to  you  tc 
know  my  story,  unmaidenly  as  it  must  seem.  I  am  callec 
Blanche  de  Maletroit ;  I  have  been  without  father  01 
mother  for  —  oh  1  for  as  long  as  I  can  recollect,  and  indeec 
I  have  been  most  unhappy  all  my  life.  Three  months  age 
a  young  captain  began  to  stand  near  me  every  day  ir 
church.  I  could  see  that  I  pleased  him  ;  I  am  much  tc 
blame,  but  I  was  so  glad  that  any  one  should  love  me  ;  anc 
when  he  passed  me  a  letter,  I  took  it  home  with  me  anc 
read  it  with  great  pleasure.  Since  that  time  he  has  writter 
many.  He  was  so  anxious  to  speak  with  me,  poor  fellow 
and  kept  asking  me  to  leave  the  door  open  some  evening 
that  we  might  have  two  words  upon  the  stair.  For  he 
knew  how  much  my  uncle  trusted  me."  She  gave  some- 
thing like  a  sob  at  that,  and  it  was  a  moment  before  she 
could  go  on.  "  My  uncle  is  a  hard  man,  but  he  is  ver) 
shrewd,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  He  has  performed  many  feats 
in  war,  and  was  a  great  person  at  court,  and  much  trustee 
by  Queen  Isabeau  in  old  days.  How  he  came  to  susped 
me  I  cannot  tell ;  but  it  is  hard  to  keep  anything  from  his 
knowledge ;  and  this  morning,  as  we  came  from  mass,  he 
took  my  hand  into  his,  forced  it  open,  and  read  my  little 
billet,  walking  by  my  side  all  the  while. 

"  When  he  finished,  he  gave  it  back  to  me  with  greal 
politeness.  It  contained  another  request  to  have  the  dooi 
left  open  ;  and  this  has  been  the  ruin  of  us  all.  My  uncle 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's  Door  163 

cept  me  strictly  in  my  room  until  evening,  and  then 
>rdered  me  to  dress  myself  as  you  see  me  —  a  hard  mock- 
;ry  for  a  young  girl,  do  you  not  think  so  ?  I  suppose, 
vhen  he  could  not  prevail  with  me  to  tell  him  the  young 
captain's  name,  he  must  have  laid  a  trap  for  him ;  into 
vhich,  alas !  you  have  fallen  in  the  anger  of  God.  I 
ooked  for  much  confusion  ;  for  how  could  I  tell  whether 
le  was  willing  to  take  me  for  his  wife  on  these  sharp 
erms  ?  He  might  have  been  trifling  with  me  from  the 
irst ;  or  I  might  have  made  myself  too  cheap  in 'his  eyes. 
But  truly  I  had  not  looked  for  such  a  shameful  punish- 
nent  as  this  !  I  could  not  think  that  God  would  let  a  girl 
>e  so  disgraced  before  a  young  man.  And  now  I  tell  you 
til ;  and  I  can  scarcely  hope  that  you  will  not  despise  me." 

Denis  made  her  a  respectful,  inclination. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  you  have  honored  me  by  your  con- 
idence.  It  remains  for  me  to  prove  that  I  am  not  un- 
vorthy  of  the  honor.  Is  Messire  de  Male"troit  at  hand?  " 

"  I  believe  he  is  writing  in  the  salle  without,"  she  an- 
wered. 

"  May  I  lead  you  thither,  madam?  "  asked  Denis,  offer- 
ng  his  hand  with  his  most  courtly  bearing. 

She  accepted  it ;  and  the  pair  passed  out  of  the  chapel, 
Blanche  in  a  very  drooping  and  shamefast  condition,  but 
Denis  strutting  and  ruffling  in  the  consciousness  of  a  mis- 
ion,  and  the  boyish  certainty  of  accomplishing  it  with 
lonor. 

The  Sire  Male"troit  rose  to  meet  them  with  an  ironical 
>beisance. 

"Sir,"  said  Denis,  with  the  grandest  possible  air,  "I 
>elieve  I  am  to  have  some  say  in  the  matter  of  this  mar- 
iage ;  and  let  me  tell  you  at  once,  I  will  be  no  party  to 
orcing  the  inclination  of  this  young  lady.  Had  it  been 


164  Robert   Louis  Stevenson 

freely  offered  to  me,  I  should  have  been  proud  to  accep 
her  hand,  for  I  perceive  she  is  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful 
but  as  things  are,  I  have  now  the  honor,  messire,  of  refus 
ing." 

"Blanche  looked  at  him  with  gratitude  in  her  eyes ;  bu 
the  old  gentleman  only  smiled  and  smiled,  until  his  smil< 
grew  positively  sickening  to  Denis. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  that  yoi 
do  not  perfectly  understand  the  choice  I  have  offered  you 
Follow  me,  I  beseech  you,  to  this  window."  And  he  lee 
the  wray  to  one  of  the  large  windows  which  stood  open  01 
the  night.  "  You  observe,"  he  went  on,  "  there  is  an  iroi 
ring  in  the  upper  masonry,  and  reeved  through  that,  a  ver 
efficacious  rope.  ^Now,  mark  my  words  :  if  you  should  fine 
your  disinclination  to  my  niece's  person  insurmountable,  '. 
shall  have  you  hanged  out  of  this  window  before  sunrise 
I  shall  only  proceed  to  such  an  extremity  with  the  greates 
regret,  you  may  believe  me.  For  it  is  not  at  all  your  deatl 
that  I  desire,  but  my  niece's  establishment  in  life.  )  At  th< 
same  time,  it  must  come  to  that  if  you  prove  oostinate 
Your  family,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  is  very  well  in  its  way 
but  if  you  sprung  from  Charlemagne,  you  should  not  re 
fuse  the  hand  of  a  Male"  troit  with  impunity  —  not  if  sh< 
had  been  as  common  as  the  Paris  road  —  not  if  she  was  a: 
hideous  as  the  gargoyle  over  my  door.  Neither  my  niec< 
nor  you,  nor  my  own  private  feelings,  move  me  at  all  h 
this  matter.  The  honor  of  my  house  has  been  compro 
mised ;  I  believe  you  to  be  the  guilty  person,  at  least  yoi 
are  now  in  the  secret ;  and  you  can  hardly  wonder  if  I  re 
quest  you  to  wipe  out  the  stain.  If  you  will  not,  you: 
blood  be  on  your  own  head  !  It  will  be  no  great  satisfac 
tion  to  me  to  have  your  interesting  relics  kicking  thei: 
heels  in  the  breeze  below  my  windows,  but  half  a  loaf  i: 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  165 

better  than  no  bread,  and  if  I  cannot  cure  the  dishonor, 
I  shall  at  least  stop  the  scandal." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  I  believe  there  are  other  ways  of  settling  such  imbro- 
glios among  gentlemen,"  said  Denis.  "  You  wear  a  sword, 
and  I  hear  you  have  used  it  with  distinction." 

The  Sire  de  Mal£troit  made  a  signal  to  the  chaplain, 
who  crossed  the  room  with  long  silent  strides  and  raised 
the  arras  over  the  third  of  the  three  doors.  It  was  only  a 
moment  before  he  let  it  fall  again ;  but  Denis  had  time  to 
see  a  dusky  passage  full  of  armed  men. 

"When  I  was  a  little  younger,  I  should  have  been  de- 
lighted to  honor  you,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,"  said  Sire 
Alain;  "  but  now  I  am  too  old.  Faithful  retainers  are  the 
sinews  of  age,  and  I  must  employ  the  strength  I  have. 
This  is  one  of  the  hardest  things  to  swallow  as  a  man 
grows  up  in  years  ;  but  with  a  little  patience,  even  this 
becomes  habitual.  You  and  the  lady  seem  to  prefer  the 
salle  for  what  remains  of  your  two  hours  ;  and  as  I  have 
no  desire  to  cross  your  preference,  I  shall  resign  it  to  your 
use  with  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world.  No  haste !  "  he 
added,  holding  up  his  hand,  as  he  saw  a  dangerous  look 
come  into  Denis  de  Beaulieu's  face.  "  If  your  mind  revolt 
against  hanging,  it  will  be  time  enough  two  hours  hence  to 
throw  yourself  out  of  the  window  or  upon  the  pikes  of  my 
retainers.  Two  hours  of  life  are  always  two  hours.  A 
great  many  things  may  turn  up  in  even  as  little  a  while  as 
that.  And,  besides,  if  I  understand  her  appearance,  my 
niece  has  something  to  say  to  you.  You  will  not  disfigure 
your  last  hours  by  want  of  politeness  to  a  lady  ? " 

Denis  looked  at  Blanche,  and  she  made  him  an  implor- 
ing gesture. 

It  is  likely  that  the  old  gentleman  was  hugely  pleased 


1 66  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

at  this  symptom  of  an  understanding ;  for  he  smiled  on 
both,  and  added  sweetly :  "If  you  will  give  me  your  wrord 
of  honor,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  to  await  my  return  at  the 
end  of  the  two  hours  before  attempting  anything  desper- 
ate, I  shall  withdraw  my  retainers,  and  let  you  speak  in 
greater  privacy  with  mademoiselle." 

Denis  again  glanced  at  the  girl,  who  seemed  to  beseech 
him  to  agree. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,"  he  said. 

Messire  de  Male"troit  bowed,  and  proceeded  to  limp  about 
the  apartment,  clearing  his  throat  the  while  with  that  odd 
musical  chirp  which  had  already  grown  so  irritating  in  the 
ears  of  Denis  de  Beaulieu.  He  first  possessed  himself  of 
some  papers  which  lay  upon  the  table  ;  then  he  went  to  the 
mouth  of  the  passage  and  appeared  to  give  an  order  to  the 
men  behind  the  arras  ;  and  lastly  he  hobbled  out  through 
the  door  by  which  Denis  had  come  in,  turning  upon  the 
threshold  to  address  a  last  smiling  bow  to  the  young  couple, 
and  followed  by  the  chaplain  with  a  hand  lamp. 

No  sooner  were  they  alone  than  Blanche  advanced  toward 
Denis  with  her  hands  extended.  Her  face  was  flushed  and 
excited,  and  her  eyes  shone  with  tears. 

"  You  shall  not  die !  "  she  cried,  "  you  shall  marry  me 
after  all." 

"You  seem  to  think,  madam,"  replied  Denis,  "that  I 
stand  much  in  fear  of  death." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  said,  "  I  see  you  are  no  poltroon.  It 
is  for  my  own  sake  —  I  could  not  bear  to  have  you  slain 
for  such  a  scruple." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  returned  Denis,  "  that  you  underrate  the 
difficulty,  madam.  What  you  may  be  too  generous  to  refuse, 
I  may  be  too  proud  to  accept.  In  a  moment  of  noble  feel- 
ing toward  me,  you  forget  what  you  perhaps  owe  to  others." 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's    Door  167 


He  had  the  decency  to  keep  his  eyes  on  the  floor  as  he 
said  this,  and  after  he  had  finished,  so  as  not  to  spy  upon 
her  confusion.  She  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  then  walked 
suddenly  away,  and  falling  on  her  uncle's  chair,  fairly  burst 
out  sobbing.  Denis  was  in  the  acme  of  embarrassment. 
He  looked  round,  as  if  to  seek  for  inspiration,  and,  seeing 
a  stool,  plumped  down  upon  it  for  something  to  do.  There 
he  sat,  playing  with  the  guard  of  his  rapier,  and  washing 
himself  dead  a  thousand  times  over,  and  buried  in  the 
nastiest  kitchen-heap  in  France.  His  eyes  wandered  round 
the  apartment,  but  found  nothing  to  arrest  them.  There 
were  such  wide  spaces  between  the  furniture,  the  light  fell 
so  badly  and  cheerlessly  over  all,  the  dark  outside  air 
looked  in  so  coldly  through  the  windows,  that  he  thought 
he  had  never  seen  a  church  so  vast,  nor  a  tomb  so  melan- 
choly. The  regular  sobs  of  Blanche  de  Male"troit  measured 
out  the  time  like  the  ticking  of  a  clock.  He  read  the  device 
upon  the  shield  over  and  over  again,  until  his  eyes  became 
obscured  ;  he  stared  into  shadowy  corners  until  he  imagined 
they  were  swarming  with  horrible  animals  ;  and  every  now 
and  again  he  awoke  with  a  start,  to  remember  that  his  last 
two  hours  were  running,  and  death  was  on  the  march. 

Oftener  and  oftener,  as  the  time  went  on,  did  his  glance 
settle  on  the  girl  herself.  Her  face  was  bowed  forward  and 
covered  with  her  hands,  and  she  was  shaken  at  intervals 
by  the  convulsive  hiccough  of  grief.  Even  thus  she  was 
not  an  unpleasant  object  to  dwell  upon,  so  plump  and  yet 
so  fine,  with  a  warm  brown  skin,  and  the  most  beautiful 
hair,  Denis  thought,  in  the  whole  world  of  womankind. 
Her  hands  were  like  her  uncle's  :  but  they  were  more  in 
place  at  the  end  of  her  young  arms,  and  looked  infinitely 
soft  and  caressing.  He  remembered  how  her  blue  eyes 
had  shone  upon  him,  full  of  anger,  pity,  and  innocence. 


1 68  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

'  And  the  more  he  dwelt  on  her  perfections,  the  uglier  death 
looked,  and  the  more  deeply  was  he  smitten  with  penitence 
at  her  continued  tears.  Now  he  felt  that  no  man  could 
have  the  courage  to  leave  a  world  which  contained  so  beau- 
tiful a  creature  ;  and  now  he  would  have  given  forty  min- 
utes of  his  last  hour  to  have  unsaid  his  cruel  speech. 

Suddenly  a  hoarse  and  ragged  peal  of  cockcrow  rose  to 
their  ears  from  the  dark  valley  below  the  windows.  And 
this  shattering  noise  in  the  silence  of  all  around  was  like  a 
light  in  a  dark  place,  and  shook  them  both  out  of  their  re- 
flections. 

"  Alas,  can  I  do  nothing  to  help  you  ?  "  she  said,  looking 
up. 

"Madam,''  replied  Denis,  w7ith  a  fine  irrelevancy,  "if  I 
have  said  anything  to  wound  you,  believe  me,  it  was  for 
your  own  sake  and  not  for  mine." 

She  thanked  him  with  a  tearful  look. 

"  I  feel  your  position  cruelly,"  he  went  on.  "  The  world 
has  been  bitter  hard  on  you.  Your  uncle  is  a  disgrace  to 
mankind.  Believe  me,  madam,  there  is  no  young  gentleman 
in  all  France  but  would  be  glad  of  my  opportunity,  to  die 
in  doing  you  a  momentary  service." 

"  I  know  already  that  you  can  be  very  brave  and  gener- 
ous," she  answered.  "  What  I  want  to  know  is  whether  I 
can  serve  you  —  now  or  afterward,"  she  added,  with  a 
quaver. 

"  Most  certainly,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile.  "  Let  me 
sit  beside  you  as  if  I  were  a  friend,  instead  of  a  foolish  in- 
truder ;  try  to  forget  how  awkwardly  wre  are  placed  to  one 
another ;  make  my  last  moments  go  pleasantly ;  and  you 
will  do  me  the  chief  service  possible." 

"  You  are  very  gallant,"  she  added,  with  a  yet  deeper 
sadness  —  "  very  gallant  —  and  it  somehow  pains  me.  But 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  169 

draw  nearer,  if  you  please  ;  and  if  you  find  anything  to 
say  to  me,  you  will  at  least  make  certain  of  a  very  friendly 
listener.  Ah!  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,"  she  broke  forth  — 
"  ah !  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  how  can  I  look  you  in  the 
face  ?  "  And  she  fell  to  weeping  again  with  a  renewed 
effusion. 

"  Madam,"  said  Denis,  taking  her  hand  in  both  of 
his,  "  reflect  on  the  little  time  I  have  before  me,  and 
the  great  bitterness  into  which  I  am  cast  by  the  sight 
of  your  distress.  Spare  me,  in  my  last  moments,  the 
spectacle  of  what  I  cannot  cure  even  with  the  sacrifice 
of  my  life." 

"  I  am  very  selfish,"  answered  Blanche.  "  I  will  be 
braver,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  for  your  sake.  But  think  if 
I  can  do  you  no  kindness  in  the  future  —  if  you  have  no 
friends  to  whom  I  could  carry  your  adieux.  Charge  me  as 
heavily  as  you  can  ;  every  burden  will  lighten,  by  so  little, 
the  invaluable  gratitude  I  owe  you.  Put  it  in  my  power  to 
do  something  more  for  you  than  weep." 

"  My  mother  is  married  again,  and  has  a  young  family 
to  care  for.  My  brother  Guichard  will  inherit  my  fiefs  ; 
and  if  I  am  not  in  error,  that  will  content  him  amply  for 
my  death.  Life  is  a  little  vapor  that  passeth  away,  as  we 
are  told  by  those  in  holy  orders.  When  a  man  is  in  a  fair 
way  and  sees  all  life  open  in  front  of  him,  he  seems  to  him- 
self to  make  a  very  important  figure  in  the  world.  His 
horse  whinnies  to  him  ;  the  trumpets  blow  and  the  girls 
look  out  of  window  as  he  rides  into  town  before  his  com- 
pany ;  he  receives  many  assurances  of  trust  and  regard  — 
sometimes  by  express  in  a  letter  —  sometimes  face  to  face, 
with  persons  of  great  consequence  falling  on  his  neck.  It 
is  not  wonderful  if  his  head  is  turned  for  a  time.  But  once 
he  is  dead,  were  he  as  brave  as  Hercules  or  as  wise  as  Sol- 


170  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

omon,  he  is  soon  forgotten.  It  is  not  ten  years  since  my 
father  fell,  with  many  other  knights  around  him,  in  a  very 
fierce  encounter,  and  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  of  them, 
nor  so  much  as  the  name  of  the  fight,  is  now  remembered. 
No,  no,  madam,  the  nearer  you  come  to  it,  you  see  that 
death  is  a  dark  and  dusty  corner,  where  a  man  gets  into  his 
tomb  and  has  the  door  shut  after  him  till  the  judgment 
day.  I  have  few  friends  just  now,  and  once  I  am  dead  I 
shall  have  none." 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  for- 
get Blanche  de  Maletroit." 

"  You  have  a  sweet  nature,  madam,  and  you  are  pleased 
to  estimate  a  little  service  far  beyond  its  worth." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  she  answered.  "  You  mistake  me  if  you 
think  I  am  easily  touched  by  my  own  concerns.  I  say  so 
because  you  are  the  noblest  man  I  have  ever  met ;  because 
I  recognize  in  you  a  spirit  that  would  have  made  even  a 
common  person  famous  in  the  land." 

"And  yet  here  I  die  in  a  mousetrap  —  with  no  more 
noise  about  it  than  my  own  squeaking,"  answered  he. 

A  look  of  pain  crossed  her  face  and  she  was  silent  for  a 
little  while.  Then  a  light  came  into  her  eyes,  and  with  a 
smile  she  spoke  again. 

"  I  cannot  have  my  champion  think  meanly  of  him- 
self. Anyone  who  gives  his  life  for  another  will  be  met  in 
Paradise  by  all  the  heralds  and  angels  of  the  Lord  God. 
And  you  have  no  such  cause  to  hang  your  head.  For  — 
Pray,  do  you  think  me  beautiful  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  deep 
flush. 

"  Indeed,  madam,  I  do,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  answered  heartily.  "  Do  you 
think  there  are  many  men  in  France  who  have  been  asked 
in  marriage  by  a  beautiful  maiden  —  with  her  own  lips  — 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  171 

and  who  have  refused  her  to  her  face  ?  I  know  you  men 
would  half  despise  such  a  triumph ;  but  believe  me,  we 
women  know  more  of  what  is  precious  in  love.  There  is 
nothing  that  should  set  a  person  higher  in  his  own  esteem  ; 
and  we  women  would  prize  nothing  more  dearly." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  said  ;  "  but  you  cannot  make 
me  forget  that  I  was  asked  in  pity  and  not  for  love." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  she  replied,  holding  down  her 
head.  "  Hear  me  to  an  end,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu.  I 
know  how  you  must  despise  me  ;  I  feel  you  are  right  to  do 
so ;  I  am  too  poor  a  creature  to  occupy  one  thought  of 
your  mind,  although,  alas !  you  must  die  for  me  this 
morning.  But  when  I  asked  you  to  marry  me,  indeed,  and 
indeed,  it  was  because  I  respected  and  admired  you,  and 
loved  you  with  my  whole  soul,  from  the  very  moment  that 
you  "took  my  part  against  my  uncle.  If  you  had  seen  your- 
self, and  how  noble  you  looked,  you  would  pity  rather  than 
despise  me.  And  now,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly  checking 
him  with  her  hand,  "  although  I  have  laid  aside  all  reserve 
and  told  you  so  much,  remember  that  I  know  your  senti- 
ments toward  me  already.  I  would  not,  believe  me,  being 
nobly  born,  weary  you  with  importunities  into  consent.  I 
too  have  a  pride  of  my  own  :  and  I  declare  before  the  holy 
mother  of  God,  if  you  should  now  go  back  from  your  word 
already  given,  I  would  no  more  marry  you  than  I  would 
marry  my  uncle's  groom." 

Denis  smiled  a  little  bitterly. 

"  It  is  a  small  love,"  he  said,  "  that  shies  at  a  little 
pride." 

She  made  no  answer,  although  she  probably  had  her 
own  thoughts. 

"  Come  hither  to  the  window,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 
"  Here  is  the  dawn." 


172  Robert   Louis  Stevenson 

And  indeed  the  dawn  was  already  beginning.  The  hol- 
low of  the  sky  was  full  of  essential  daylight,  colorless  and 
clean ;  and  the  valley  underneath  was  flooded  with  a  gray 
reflection.  A  few  thin  vapors  clung  in  the  coves  of  the 
forest  or  lay  along  the  winding  course  of  the  river.  The 
scene  disengaged  a  surprising  effect  of  stillness,  which  was 
hardly  interrupted  when  the  cocks  began  once  more  to 
crow  among  the  steadings.  Perhaps  the  same  fellow  who 
had  made  so  horrid  a  clangor  in  the  darkness  not  half  an 
hour  before,  now  sent  up  the  merriest  cheer  to  greet  the 
coming  day.  A  little  wind  went  bustling  and  eddying 
among  the  tree-tops  underneath  the  windows.  And  still 
the  daylight  kept  flooding  insensibly  out  of  the  east,  which 
was  soon  to  grow  incandescent  and  cast  up  that  red-hot 
cannon-ball,  the  rising  sun. 

Denis  looked  out  over  all  this  with  a  bit  of  a  shiver.  He 
had  taken  her  hand,  and  retained  it  in  his  almost  uncon- 
sciously. 

"Has  the  day  begun  already?"  she. said;  and  then 
illogically  enough  :  "  the  night  has  been  so  long  !  Alas  1 
what  shall  we  say  to  my  uncle  when  he  returns  ?  " 

"  What  you  will,"  said  Denis,  and  he  pressed  her  fingers 
in  his. 

She  was  silent. 

"  Blanche,"  he  said,  with  a  swift,  uncertain,  passionate 
utterance,  "  you  have  seen  whether  I  fear  death.  You 
must  know  well  enough  that  I  would  as  gladly  leap  out  of 
that  window  into  the  empty  air  as  to  lay  a  finger  on  you 
without  your  free  and  full  consent.  But  if  you  care  for  me 
at  all  do  not  let  me  lose  my  life  in  a  misapprehension ;  for 
I  love  you  better  than  the  whole  world  ;  and  though  I  will 
die  for  you  blithely,  it  would  be  like  all  the  joys  of  Paradise 
to  live  on  and  spend  my  life  in  your  service/' 


The  Sire  de   Maletroit's   Door  173 

As  he  stopped  speaking,  a  bell  began  to  ring  loudly  in 
the  interior  of  the  house  ;  and  a  clatter  of  armor  in  the 
corridor  showed  that  the  retainers  were  returning  to  their 
post,  and  the  two  hours  were  at  an  end. 

"  After  all  that  you  have  heard  ?  "  she  whispered,  leaning 
toward  him  with  her  lips  and  eyes. 

"  I  have  heard  nothing,"  he  replied. 

"  The  captain's  name  was  Florimond  de  Champdivers," 
she  said  in  his  ear. 

"  I  did  not  hear  it,"  he  answered,  taking  her  supple  body 
in  his  arms,  and  covering  her  wet  face  with  kisses. 

A  melodious  chirping  was  audible  behind,  followed  by  a 
beautiful  chuckle,  and  the  voice  of  Messire  de  Maletroit 
wished  his  new  nephew  a  good  morning. 


MARKHEIM 

"  Yes,"  said  the  dealer,  "  our  windfalls  are  of  various 
kinds.  Some  customers  are  ignorant,  and  then  I  touch 
a  dividend  on  my  superior  knowledge.  Some  are  dis- 
honest," and  here  he  held  up  the  candle,  so  that  the  light 
fell  strongly  on  his  visitor,  "  and  in  that  case,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  I  profit  by  my  virtue." 

Markheim  had  but  just  entered  from  the  daylight  streets, 
and  his  eyes  had  not  yet  grown  familiar  with  the  mingled 
shine  and  darkness  in  the  shop.  At  these  pointed  words, 
and  before  the  near  presence  of  the  flame,  he  blinked  pain- 
fully and  looked  aside. 

The  dealer  chuckled.  "  You  come  to  me  on  Christmas 
Day,"lheT^sumed)  "  when  you  know  that  I  am  alone  in  my 
house,  put  up  my  shutters,  and  make  a  point  of  refusing 
business.  Well,  you  will  have. to  pay  for  that;  you  will 
have  to  pay  for  my  loss  of  time,  when  I  should  be  balanc- 
ing my  books ;  you  will  have  to  pay,  besides,  for  a  kind 
of  manner  that  I  remark  in  you  to-day  very  strongly.  I 
am  the  essence  of  discretion,  and  ask  no  awkward  ques- 
tions ;  but  when  a  customer  cannot  look  me  in  the  eye,  he 
has  to  pay  for  it."  The  dealer  once  more  chuckled  ;  and 
then,  changing  to  his  usual  business  voice,  though  still 
with  a  note  of  irony,  "  You  can  give,  as  usual,  a  clear 
account  of  how  you  came  into  the  possession  of  the 
object?"  he  continued.  "Still  your  uncle's  cabinet?  A 
remarkable  collector,  sir  !  " 


Markheim  175 

And  the  little  pale,  round-shouldered  dealer  stood  almost 
on  tiptoe,  looking  over  the  top  of  his  gold  spectacles,  and 
nodding  his  head  with  every  mark  of  disbelief.  Markheim 
returned  his  gaze  with  one  of  infinite  pity,  and  a  touch  of 
horror. 

"This  time,"  said  he,  "you  are  in  error.  I  have  not 
come  to  sell,  but  to  buy.  I  have  no  curios  to  dispose  of  ,* 
my  uncle's  cabinet  is  bare  to  the  wainscot  ;  even  were  it 
still  intact,  I  have  done  well  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  and 
should  more  likely  add  to  it  than  otherwise,  and  my  errand 
to-day  is  simplicity  itself.  I  seek  a  Christmas  present  for 
a  lady,"  he  continued,  waxing  more  fluent  as  he  struck  into 
the  speech  he  had  prepared ;  "  and  certainly  I  owe  you 
every  excuse  for  thus  disturbing  you  upon  so  small  a 
matter.  But  the  thing  was  neglected  yesterday ;  I  must 
produce  my  little  compliment  at  dinner;  and,  as  you  very 
well  know,  a  rich  marriage  is  not  a  thing  to  be  neglected." 

There  followed  a  pause,  during  which  the  dealer  seemed 
to  weigh  this  statement  incredulously.  ^The  ticking  of 
many  clocks  among  the  curious  lumber  of  the  shop,  and 
the  faint  rushing  of  the  cabs  in  a  near  thoroughfare,  filled 
up  the  interval  of  silence.  J 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  dealer,  "  be  it  so.  You  are  an 
old  customer  after  all ;  and  if,  as  you  say,  you  have  the 
chance  of  a  good  marriage,  far  be  it  from  me  to  be  an 
obstacle.  ^Here  is  a  nice  thing  for  a  lady,  now,"  he  went 
on,  "  this  hand  glass  —  fifteenth  century,  warranted  ;  comes 
from  a  good  collection,  too;  but  I  reserve  the  name,  in  the 
interests  of  my  customer,  who  was  just  like  yourself,  my  dear 
sir,  the  nephew  and  sole  heir  of  a  remarkable  collector." 

The  dealer,  while  he  thus  ran  on  in  his  dry  and  biting 
voice,  h^d  stooped  to  take  the  object  from  its  place  ;  and, 
as  he  had  done  so,  a  shock  had  passed  through  Markheim, 


iy6  Robert   Louis  Stevenson 

a  start  both  of  hand  and  foot,  a  sudden  leap  of  many 
tumultuous  passions  to  the  face.  It  passed  as  swiftly  as  it 
came,  and  left  no  trace  beyond  a  certain  trembling  of  the 
hand  that  now  received  the  glass. 

u  A  glass,"  he  said  hoarsely,  and  then  paused,  and 
repeated  it  more  clearly.  "A  glass?  For  Christmas? 
Surely  not." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  cried  the  dealer.     "  Why  not  a  glass  ? " 

Markheim  was  looking  upon  him  with  an  indefinable 
expression.  "You  ask  me  why  not?"  he  said.  "Why, 
look  here  —  look  in  it  —  look  at  yourself  !  Do  you  like  to 
see  it  ?  No  !  nor  I  —  nor  any  man." 

The  little  man  had  jumped  back  when  Markheim  had 
so  suddenly  confronted  him  with  the  mirror ;  but  now, 
perceiving  there  was  nothing  worse  on  hand,  he  chuckled. 
"Your  future  lady,  sir,  must  be  pretty  hard  favored," 
said  he. 

"  I  ask  you,"  said  Markheim,  "for  a  Christmas  present, 
and  you  give  me  this  —  this  damned  reminder  of  years 
and  sins  and  follies  —  this  hand-conscience  !  Did  you 
mean  it  ?  Had  you  a  thought  in  your  mind  ?  Tell  me. 
It  will  be  better  for  you  if  you  do.  Come,  tell  me  about 
yourself.  I  hazard  a  guess  now,  that  you  are  in  secret  a 
very  charitable  man?  " 

The  dealer  looked  closely  at  his  companion.  It  was 
very  odd,  Markheim  did  not  appear  to  be  laughing ;  there 
was  something  in  his  face  like  an  eager  sparkle  of  hope, 
but  nothing  of  mirth. 

"What  are  you  driving  at  ? "  the  dealer  asked. 

"  Not  charitable?  "  returned  the  other,  gloomily.  "  Not 
charitable  ;  not  pious  ;  not  scrupulous  ;  unloving ;  unbe- 
loved  ;  a  hand  to  get  money,  a  safe  to  keep  it.  Is  that  all? 
Dear  God,  man,  is  that  all?  " 


Markheim  177* 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,"  began  the  dealer,  with  some 
sharpness,  and  then  broke  off  again  into  a  chuckle.  "  But 
I  see  this  is  a  love  match  of  yours,  and  you  have  been 
drinking  the  lady's  health." 

"Ah!"  cried  Markheim,  with  a  strange  curiosity. 
"Ah,  have  you  been  in  love?  Tell  me  about  that." 

"  I !  "  cried  the  dealer.  "  I  in  love  !  I  never  had  the 
time,  nor  have  I  the  time  to-day  for  all  this  nonsense. 
Will  you  take  the  glass?  " 

"Where  is  the  hurry?"  returned  Markheim.  "It  is 
very  pleasant  to  stand  here  talking  ;  and  life  is  so  short 
and  insecure  that  I  would  not  hurry  away  from  any  pleas- 
ure—  no,  not  even  from  so  mild  a  one  as  thisj  We  should 
rather  cling,  cling  to  what  little  we  can  get,  like  a  man  at 
EI  cliff's  edge.  Every  second  is  a  cliff,  if  you  think  upon 
it  —  a  cliff  a  mile  high  —  high  enough,  if  we  fall,  to  dash 
us  out  of  every  feature  of  humanity.  Hence  it  is  best  to 
talk  pleasantly  j  Let  us  talk  of  each  other ;  why  should 
we  wear  this  mask  ?  Let  us  be  confidential.  Who  knows, 
we  might  become  friends  ?  " 

"  I  have  just  one  word  to  say  to  you,"  said  the  dealer. 
;'  Either  make  your  purchase,  or  walk  out  of  my  shop." 

"  True,  true,"  said  Markheim.  "  Enough  fooling.  To 
business.  Show  me  something  else." 

The  dealer  stooped  once  more,  this  time  to  replace  the 
glass  upon  the  shelf,  his  thin  blond  hair  falling  over  his 
eyes  as  he  did  so.  Markheim  moved  a  little  nearer,  with 
Dne  hand  in  the  pocket  of  his  greatcoat ;  he  drew  himself 
up  and  filled  his  lungs  ;  at  the  same  time  many  different 
emotions  were  depicted  together  on  his  face  —  terror, 
horror,  and  resolve,  fascination,  and  a  physical  repulsion ; 
ind  through  a  haggard  lift  of.  his  upper  lip,  his  teeth 
looked  out. 


,178  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

"This,  perhaps,  may  suit,"  observed  the  dealer;  and 
then,  as  he  began  to  re-arise,  Markheim  bounded  from 
behind  upon  his  victim.  The  long,  skewer-like  dagger 
flashed  and  fell.  The  dealer  struggled  like  a  hen,  striking 
his  temple  on  the  shelf,  and  then  tumbled  on  the  floor  in 
a  heap./ 

~t  Time  had  some  score  of  small  voices  in  that  shop,  some 
stately  and  slow  as  was  becoming  to  their  great  age,  others 
garrulous  and  hurried.  All  these  told  out  the  seconds  in 
an  intricate  chorus  of  tickings.  Then  the  passage  of  a 
lad's  feet,  heavily  running  on  the  pavement,  broke  in  upon 
these  smaller  voices  and  startled  Markheim  into  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  surroundings.  He  looked  about  him 
awfully.  The  candle  stood  on  the  counter,  its  flame 
solemnly  wagging  in  a  draught ;  and  by  that  inconsider- 
able movement,  the  whole  room  was  filled  with  noiseless 
bustle  and  kept  heaving  like  a  sea :  the  tail  shadows  nod- 
ding, the  gross  blots  of  darkness  swelling  and  dwindling 
as  with  respiration,  the  faces  of  the  portraits  and  the  china 
gods  changing  and  wavering  like  images  in  water.  The 
inner  door  stood  ajar,  and  peered  into  that  leaguer  of 
shadows  with  a  long  slit  of  daylight  like  a  pointing  finger. 

From  these  fear-stricken  rovings,  Markheim's  eyes  re- 
turned to  the  body  of  his.  victim,  where  it  lay  both  humped 
and  sprawling,  incredibly  small  and  strangely  meaner  than 
in  life.  In  these  poor,  miserly  clothes,  in  that  ungainly 
attitude,  the  dealer  lay  like  so  much  sawdust.  Markheim 
had  feared  to  see  it,  and,  lo !  it  was  nothing.  And  yet,  as 
he  gazed,  this  bundle  of  old  clothes  and  pool  of  blood 
began  to  find  eloquent  voices.  There  it  must  lie ;  there 
was  none  to  work  the  cunning  hinges  or  direct  the  miracle 
of  locomotion  —  there  it  must  lie  till  it  was  found.  Found ! 
aye,  and  then  ?  Then  would  this  dead  flesh  lift  up  a  cry 


Markheim  179 

that  would  ring  over  England,  and  fill  the  world  with 
the  echoes  of  pursuit.  Ay,  dead  or  not,  this  was  still  the 
enemy.  "  Time  was  that  when  the  brains  were  out,"  he 
thought ;  and  the  first  word  struck  into  his  mind.  Time, 
now  that  the  deed  was  accomplished  —  time,  which  had 
closed  for  the  victim,  had  Become  instant  and  momentous 
for  the  slayer. 

The  thought  was  yet  in  his  mind,  when,  first  one  and 
then  another,  with  every  variety  of  pace  and  voice  —  one 
deep  as  the  bell  from  a  cathedral  turret,  another  ringing  on 
its  treble  notes  the  prelude  of  a  waltz  —  the  clocks  began 
to  strike  the  hour  of  three  in  the  afternoon. 

The  sudden  outbreak  of  so  many  tongues  in  that  dumb 
I  chamber  staggered  him.  He  began  to  bestir  himself,  going 
to  and  fro  with  the  candle,  beleaguered  by  moving  shadows, 
and  startled  to  the  soul  by  chance  reflections.  In  many 
rich  mirrors,  some  of  home  designs,  some  from  Venice 
or  Amsterdam,  he  saw  his  face  repeated  and  repeated,  as 
it  were  an  army  of  spies  ;  his  own  eyes  met  and  detected 
him  ;  and  the  sound  of  his  own  steps,  lightly  as  they  fell, 
vexed  the  surrounding  quiet.  And  still  as  he  continued 
to  fill  his  pockets,  his  mind  accused  him,  with  a  sickening 
iteration,  of  the  thousand  faults  of  his  design.  He  should 
have  chosen  a  more  quiet  hour ;  he  should  have  prepared 
an  alibi ;  he  should  not  have  used  a  knife  ;  he  should 
have  been  more  cautious,  and  only  bound  and  gagged 
the  dealer,  and  not  killed  him ;  he  should  have  been  more 
bold,  and  killed  the  servant  also ;  he  should  have  done 
all  things  otherwise  ;  poignant  regrets,  weary,  incessant 
toiling  of  the  mind  to  change  what  was  unchangeable, 
to  plan  what  was  now  useless,  to  be  the  architect  of  the 
irrevocable  past.  Meanwhile,  and  behind  all  this  activity, 
brute  terrors,  like  the  scurrying  of  rats  in  a  deserted 


180  Robert   Louis  Stevenson 

attic,  filled  the  more  remote  chambers  of  his  brain  with 
riot ;  the  hand  of  the  constable  would  fall  heavy  on  his 
shoulder,  and  his  nerves  would  jerk  like  a  hooked  fish ; 
or  he  beheld,  in  galloping  defile,  the  dock,  the  prison,  the 
gallows,  and  the  black  coffin.  Terror  of  the  people  in 
the  street  sat  down  before  his  ftiind  like  a  besieging  army. 
It  was  impossible,  he  thought,  but  that  some  rumor  of  the 
struggle  must  have  reached  their  ears  and  set  on  edge  their 
curiosity ;  and  now,  in  all  the  neighboring  houses,  he 
divined  them  sitting  motionless  and  with  uplifted  ear- 
solitary  people,  condemned  to  spend  Christmas  dwelling 
alone  on  memories  of  the  past,  and  now  startlingly  recalled 
from  that  tender  exercise  ;  happy  family  parties,  struck  into 
silence  round  the  table,  the  mother  still  with  raised  finger : 
every  degree  and  age  and  humor,  but  all,  by  their  own 
hearths,  prying  and  hearkening  and  weaving  the  rope  that 
was  to  hang  him.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  he  could 
not  move  too  softly  ;  the  clink  of  the  tall  Bohemian  goblets 
rang  out  loudly  like  a  bell ;  and  alarmed  by  the  bigness  of 
the  ticking,  he  was  tempted  to  stop  the  clocks.  And  then, 
again,  with  a  swift  transition  of  his  terrors,  the  very  silence 
of  the  place  appeared  a  source  of  peril,  and  a  thing  to 
strike  and  freeze  the  passer-by ;  and  he  would  step  more 
boldly,  and  bustle  aloud  among  the  contents  of  the  shop, 
and  imitate,  with  elaborate  bravado,  the  movements  of  a 
busy  man  at  ease  in  his  own  house. 

But  he  was  now  so  pulled  about  by  different  alarms  that, 
while  one  portion  of  his  mind  was  still  alert  and  cunning, 
another  trembled  on  the  brink  of  lunacy.  One  hallucination 
in  particular  took  a  strong  hold  on  his  credulity.  The 
neighbor  hearkening  with  white  face  beside  his  window,  the 
passer-by  arrested  by  a  horrible  surmise  on  the  pavement 
—  these  could  at  worst  suspect,  they  could  not  know  ; 


Markheim  181 

through  the  brick  walls  and  shuttered  windows  only  sounds 
could  penetrate.  But  here,  within  the  house,  was  he  alone  ? 
He  knew  he  was  ;  he  had  watched  the  servant  set  forth 
sweethearting,  in  her  poor  best,  "  out  for  the  day  "  written 
in  every  ribbon  and  smile.  Yes,  he  was  alone,  of  course ; 
and  yet,  in  the  bulk  of  empty  house  about  him,  he  could 
surely  hear  a  stir  of  delicate  footing  —  he  was  surely  con- 
scious, inexplicably  conscious,  of  some  presence.  Ay, 
surely ;  to  every  room  and  corner  of  the  house  his  imag- 
ination followed  it ;  and  now  it  was  a  faceless  thing,  and 
yet  had  eyes  to  see  with ;  and  again  it  was  a  shadow  of 
himself ;  and  yet  again  behold  the  image  of  the  dead 
dealer,  reinspired  with  cunning  and  hatred. 

At  times,  with  a  strong  effort,  he  would  glance  at  the 
open  door  which  still  seemed  to  repel  his  eyes.  The  house 
was  tall,  the  skylight  small  and  dirty,  the  day  blind  with 
fog ;  and  the  light  that  filtered  down  to  the  ground  story 
was  exceedingly  faint,  and  showed  dimly  on  the  threshold 
of  the  shop.  And  yet,  in  that  strip  of  doubtful  brightness, 
did  there  not  hang  wavering  a  shadow  ? 

Suddenly,  from  the  street  outside,  a  very  jovial  gentle- 
man began  to  beat  with  a  staff  on  the  shop  door,  accom- 
panying his  blows  with  shouts  and  railleries  in  which  the 
dealer  was  continually  called  upon  by  name.  Markheim, 
smitten  into  ice,  glanced  at  the  dead  man.  But  no!  he 
lay  quite  still ;  he  was  fled  away  far  beyond  earshot  of  these 
blows  and  shoutings  ;  he  was  sunk  beneath  seas  of  silence  ; 
and  his  name,  which  would  once  have  caught  his  notice 
above  the  howling  of  a  storm,  had  become  an  empty  sound. 
And  presently  the  jovial  gentleman  desisted  from  his  knock- 
ing and  departed. 

Here  was  a  broad  hint  to  hurry  what  remained  to  be 
done,  to  get  forth  from  this  accusing  neighborhood,  to 


1 82  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

plunge  into  a  bath  of  London  multitudes,  and  to  reach, 
on  the  other  side  of  day,  that  haven  of  safety  and  appar- 
ent innocence  —  his  bed.  One  visitor  had  come  :  at  any 
moment  another  might  follow  and  be  more  obstinate.  To 
have  done  the  deed,  and  yet  not  to  reap  the  profit,  would 
be  too  abhorrent  a  failure.  The  money,  that  was  now 
Markheim's  concern ;  and  as  a  means  to  that,  the  keys. 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  open  door,  where 
the  shadow  was  still  lingering  and  shivering ;  and  with  no 
conscious  repugnance  of  the  mind,  yet  with  a  tremor  of  the 
belly,  he  drew  near  the  body  of  his  victim.  The  human 
character  had  quite  departed.  Like  a  suit  half -stuffed 
with  bran,  the  limbs  lay  scattered,  the  trunk  doubled,  on 
the  floor;  and  yet  the  thing  repelled  him.  Although  so 
dingy  and  inconsiderable  to  the  eye,  he  feared  it  might 
have  more  significance  to  the  touch.  He  took  the  body  by 
the  shoulders,  and  turned  it  on  its  back.  It  was  strangely 
light  and  supple,  and  the  limbs,  as  if  they  had  been  broken, 
fell  into  the  oddest  postures.  The  face  was  robbed  of  all 
expression  ;  but  it  was  as  pale  as  wax,  and  shockingly 
smeared  with  blood  about  one  temple.  That  was,  for 
Markheim,  the  one  displeasing  circumstance.  It  carried 
him  back,  upon  the  instant,  to  a  certain  fair  day  in  a 
fishers'  village :  a  gray  day,  a  piping  wind,  a  crowd  upon 
the  street,  the  blare  of  brasses,  the  booming  of  drums,  the 
nasal  voice  of  a  ballad  singer ;  and  a  boy  going  to  and  fro, 
buried  over  head  in  the  crowd  and  divided  between  interest 
and  fear,  until,  coming  out  upon  the  chief  place  of  con- 
course, he  beheld  a  booth  and  a  great  screen  with  pictures, 
dismally  designed,  garishly  colored :  Brownrigg  with  her 
apprentice ;  the  Mannings  with  their  murdered  guest ; 
Weare  in  the  death  grip  of  Thurtell ;  and  a  score  besides 
of  famous  crimes.  The  thing  was  as  clear  as  an  illusion  ; 


Markheim  183 

he  was  once  again  that  little  boy ;  he  was  looking  once 
again,  and  with  the  same  sense  of  physical  revolt,  at 
these  vile  pictures ;  he  was  still  stunned  by  the  thumping 
of  the  drums.  A  bar  of  that  day's  music  returned 
upon  his  memory ;  and  at  that,  for  the  first  time,  a 
qualm  came  over  him,  a  breath  of  nausea,  a  sudden 
weakness  of  the  joints,  which  he  must  instantly  resist  and 
conquer. 

He  judged  it  more  prudent  to  confront  than  to  flee  from 
these  considerations  ;  looking  the  more  hardily  in  the  dead 
face,  bending  his  mind  to  realize  the  nature  and  greatness 
of  his  crime.  So  little  a  while  ago  that  face  had  moved 
with  every  change  of  sentiment,  that  pale  mouth  had 
spoken,  that  body  had  been  all  on  fire  with  governable 
energies ;  and  now,  and  by  his  act,  that  piece  of  life  had 
been  arrested,  as  the  horologist,  with  interjected  finger, 
arrests  the  beating  of  the  clock.  So  he  reasoned  in  vain  ; 
he  could  rise  to  no  more  remorseful  consciousness  ;  the 
sam£_jieart  which  had  shuddered  before  the  painted  effigies 
of  crime,  looked  on  its  reality  unmoved.  At  best,  he  felt  a 
gleam  of  pity  for  one  who  had  been  endowed  in  vain  with 
all  those  faculties  that  can  make  the  world  a  garden  of 
enchantment,  ,one  who  had  never  lived  and  who  was  now 
dejad.  But  of  penitence,  no,  not  a  tremor. 

With  that,  shaking  himself  clear  of  these  considerations, 
he  -fr^iTVrl  f*ie  kev£.  and  advanced  toward  the  open  door 
of  the  shop.  Outside,  it  had  begun  to  rain  smartly  ;  and 
the  sound  of  the  shower  upon  the  roof  had  banished 
silence.  Like  some  dripping  cavern,  the  chambers  of  the 
house  -were  haunted  by  an  incessant  echoing,  which  filled 
the  ear  and  mingled  with  the  ticking  of  the  clocks.  And, 
as  Markheim  approached  the  door,  he  seemed  to  hear, 
in  answer  to  his  own  cautious  tread,  the  steps  of  another 


184  Robert   Louis  Stevenson 

foot  withdrawing  up  the  stair.  The  shadow  still  palpi- 
tated loosely  on  the  threshold.  He  threw  a  ton's  weight 
of  resolve  upon  his  muscles,  and  drew  back  the  door. 

The  faint,  foggy  daylight  glimmered  dimly  on  the  bare 
floor  and  stairs  ;  on  the  bright  suit  of  armor  posted,  hal- 
bert  in  hand,  upon  the  landing ;  and  on  the  dark  wood 
carvings  and  framed  pictures  that  hung  against  the  yellow 
panels  of  the  wainscot.  So  loud  was  the  beating  of 
the  rain  through  all  the  house  that,  in  Markheim's  ears,  it 
began  to  be  distinguished  into  many  different  sounds. 
Footsteps  and  sighs,  the  tread  of  regiments  marching 
in  the  distance,  the  chink  of  money  in  the  counting, 
and  the  creaking  of  doors  held  stealthily  ajar,  appeared 
to  mingle  with  the  patter  of  the  drops  upon  the  cupola 
and  the  gushing  of  the  water  in  the  pipes.  The  sense  that 
he  was  not  alone  grew  upon  him  to  the  verge  of  madness. 
On  every  side  he_  was  haunted  and  begirt  by  presences. 
He  heard  them  moving  in  the  upper  chambers ;  from 
the  shop,  he  heard  the  dead  man  getting  to  his  legs  ;  and 
as  he  began  with  a  great  effort  to  mount  the  stairs,  feet 
fled  quietly  before  him  and  followed  stealthily  behind. 
If  he  were  but  deaf,  he  thought,  how  tranquilly  he 
would  possess  his  soul !  And  then  again,  and  hearkening 
with  ever  fresh  attention,  he  blessed  himself  for  that  un- 
resting sense  which  held  the  outposts  and  stood  a  trusty 
sentinel  upon  his  life.  His  head  turned  continually  on 
his  neck  ;  his  eyes,  which  seemed  starting  from  their 
orbits,  scouted  on  every  side,  and  on  every  side  were  half 
rewarded  as  with  the  tail  of  something  nameless  vanishing. 
The  four-and-twenty  steps  to  the  first  floor  were1  four- 
and-twenty  agonies. 

On  that  first  story  the  doors  stood  ajar,  three  of  them 
like  three  ambushes,  shaking  his  nerves  like  the  throats  of 


Markheim  185 

cannon.  He  could  never  again,  he  felt,  be  sufficiently 
immured  and  fortified  from  men's  observing  eyes ;  he 
longed  to  be  home,  girt  in  by  walls,  buried  among  bed- 
clothes, and  invisible  to  all  but  God.  And  at  that  thought 
he  wondered  a  little,  recollecting  tales  of  other  murderers 
and  the  fear  they  were  said  to  entertain  of  heavenly 
avengers.  It  was  not  so,  at  least,  with  him.  He  feared 
the  laws  of  nature,  lest,  in  their  callous  and  immutable 
procedure,  they  should  preserve  some  damning  evidence 
of  his  crime.  He  feared  tenfold  more,  with  a  slavish, 
superstitious  terror,  some  scission  in  the  continuity  of 
man's  experience,  some  wilful  illegality  of  nature.  He 
played  a  game  of  skill,  depending  on  the  rules,  calculating 
consequence  from  cause ;  and  what  if  nature,  as  the 
defeated  tyrant  overthrew  the  chessboard,  should  break 
the  mould  of  their  succession  ?  The  like  had  befallen 
Napoleon  (so  writers  said)  when  the  winter  changed  the 
time  of  its  appearance.  The  like  might  befall  Markheim : 
the  solid  walls  might  become  transparent  and  reveal  his 
doings  like  those  of  bees  in  a  glass  hive  ;  the  stout  planks 
might  yield  under  his  foot  like  quicksands  and  detain  him 
in  their  clutch  ;  ay,  and  there  were  soberer  accidents  that 
might  destroy  him :  if,  for  instance,  the  house  should  fall 
and  imprison  him  beside  the  body  of  his  victim  ;  or  the 
house  next  door  should  fly  on  fire,  and  the  firemen  invade 
him  from  all  sides.  These  things  he  feared  ;  and,  in  a 
sense,  these  things  might  be  called  the  hands  of  God 
reached  forth  against  sin.  But  about  God  himself  he  was 
at  ease  ;  his  act  was  doubtless  exceptional,  but  so  were 
his  excuses,  which  God  knew  ;  it  was  there,  and  not  among 
men,  that  he  felt  sure  of  justice. 

When  he  got  safe  into  the  drawing-room,  and  shut  the 
door  behind  him,  he  was  aware  of  a  respite  from  alarms. 


i  86  Robert   Louis  Stevenson 

The  room  was  quite  dismantled,  uncarpeted  besides,  and 
strewn  with  packing  cases  and  incongruous  furniture ; 
several  great  pier  glasses,  in  which  he  beheld  himself  at 
various  angles,  like  an  actor  on  a  stage  ;  many  pictures, 
framed  and  unframed,  standing,  with  their  faces  to  the 
wall ;  a  fine  Sheraton  sideboard,  a  cabinet  of  marquetry, 
and  a  great  old  bed,  with  tapestry  hangings.  The  win- 
dows opened  to  the  floor ;  but  by  great  good  fortune 
the  lower  part  of  the  shutters  had  been  closed,  and  this 
concealed  him  from  the  neighbors.  Here,  then,  Mark- 
heim  drew  in  a  packing  case  before  the  cabinet,  and  began 
to  search  among  the  keys.  It  was  a  long  business,  for 
there  were  many  ;  and  it  was  irksome,  besides ;  for,  after 
all,  there  might  be  nothing  in  the  cabinet,  and  time  was  on 
the  wing.  But  the  closeness  of  the  occupation  sobered 
him.  With  the  tail  of  his  eye  he  saw  the  door  —  even 
glanced  at  it  from  time  to  time  directly,  like  a  besieged 
commander  pleased  to  verify  the  good  estate  of  his  de- 
fences. But  in  truth  he  was  at  peace.  The  rain  falling 
in  the  street  sounded  natural  and  pleasant.  Presently, 
on  the  other  side,  the  notes  of  a  piano  were  wakened  to 
the  music  of  a  hymn,  and  the  voices  of  many  children 
took  up  the  air  and  words.  How  stately,  how  comfortable 
was  the  melody  !  How  fresh  the  youthful  voices  !  Mark- 
heim  gave  ear  to  it  smilingly,  as  he  sorted  out  the 
keys ;  and  his  mind  was  thronged  with  answerable  ideas 
and  images  ;  church-going  children  and  the  pealing  of  the 
high  organ ;  children  afield,  bathers  by  the  brookside, 
ramblers  on  the  brambly  common,  kite-flyers  in  the  windy 
and  cloud-navigated  sky ;  and  then,  at  another  cadence  of 
the  hymn,  back  again  to  church,  and  the  somnolence  of 
summer  Sundays,  and  the  high,  genteel  voice  of  the  parson 
(which  he  smiled  a  little  to  recall),  and  the  painted  Jaco- 


Markheim  187 

bean  tombs,  and  the  dim  lettering  of  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments in  the  chancel. 

And  as  he  sat  thus,  at  once  busy  and  absent,  he  was 
startled  to  his  feet.  A  flash  of  ice,  a  flash  of  fire,  a  burst- 
ing gush  of  blood,  went  over  him,  and  then  he  stood 
transfixed  and  thrilling.  A  step  mounted  the  stair  slowly 
and  steadily,  and  presently  a  hand  was  laid  upon  the  knob, 
and  the  lock  clicked,  and  the  door  opened.  Fear  held 
Markheim  in  a  vice.  What  to  expect  he  knew  not, 
whether  the  dead  man  walking,  or  the  official  ministers  of 
human  justice,  or  some  chance  witness  blindly  stumbling 
in  to  consign  him  to  the  gallows.  But  when  a  face  was 
thrust  into  the  aperture,  glanced  round  the  room,  looked 
at  him,  nodded  and  smiled  as  if  in  friendly  recognition, 
and  then  withdrew  again,  and  the  door  closed  behind  it, 
his  fear  broke  loose  from  his  control  in  a  hoarse  cry.  At 
the  sound  of  this  the  visitant  returned. 

"  Did  you  call  me  ?  "  he  asked  pleasantly,  and  with  that 
he  entered  the  room  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Markheim  stood  and  gazed  at  him  with  all  his  eyes. 
Perhaps  there  was  a  film  upon  his  sight,  but  the  outlines 
of  the  newcomer  seemed  to  change  and  waver  like  those 
of  the  idols  in  the  wavering  candlelight  of  the  shop :  and 
at  times  he  thought  he  knew  him  ;  and  at  times  he  thought 
he  bore  a  likeness  to  himself ;  and  always,  like  a  lump  of 
living  terror,  there  lay  in  his  bosom  the  conviction  that 
this  thing  was  not  of  the  earth  and  not  of  God. 

And  yet  the  creature  had  a  strange  air  of  the  common- 
place, as  he  stood  looking  on  Markheim  with  a  smile  ; 
and  when  he  added  :  "  You  are  looking  for  the  money,  I 
believe  ?  "  it  was  in  the  tones  of  everyday  politeness. 

Markheim  made  no  answer. 

"  I    should  warn   you,"  resumed  the  other,  "  that  the 


1 88  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

maid  has  left  her  sweetheart  earlier  than  usual  and  will 
soon  be  here.  If  Mr.  Markheim  be  found  in  this  house, 
I  need  not  describe  to  him  the  consequences." 

"  You  know  me  ?  "  cried  the  murderer. 

The  visitor  smiled.  "  You  have  long  been  a  favorite 
of  mine,"  he  said ;  "  and  I  have  long  observed  and  often 
sought  to  help  you." 

"  What  are  you  ?  "  cried  Markheim  :  "  the  devil  ?  " 

"What  I  may  be,"  returned  the  other,  "cannot  affect 
the  service  I  propose  to  render  you." 

"  It  can,"  cried  Markheim  ;  "it  does  !  Be  helped  by 
you  ?  No,  never ;  not  by  you !  You  do  not  know  me 
yet ;  thank  God,  you  do  not  know  me  1  " 

"  I  know  you,"  replied  the  visitant,  with  a  sort  of  kind 
seventy  or  rather  firmness.  "  I  know7  you  to  the  soul." 

"Know  me  1 "  cried  Markheim.  "Who  can  do  so? 
My  life  is  but  a  travesty  and  slander  on  myself.  I  have 
lived  to  belie  my  nature.  All  men  do  ;  all  men  are  better 
than  this  disguise  that  grows  about  and  stifles  them.  You 
see  each  dragged  away  by  life,  like  one  whom  bravos 
have  seized  and  muffled  in  a  cloak.  If  they  had  their 
own  control  —  if  you  could  see  their  faces,  they  would  be 
altogether  different,  they  would  shine  out  for  heroes  and 
saints  !  I  am  worse  than  most ;  myself  is  more  overlaid  ; 
my  excuse  is  known  to  me  and  God.  But,  had  I  the 
time,  I  could  disclose  ^  myself." 

"  To  me  ?  "  inquired  the  visitant. 

"  To  you  before  all,"  returned  the  murderer.  "  I 
supposed  you  were  intelligent.  I  thought  —  since  you 
exist  —  you  would  prove  a  reader  of  the  heart.  And  yet 
you  would  propose  to  judge  me  by  my  acts  !  Think  of  it ; 
my  acts  !  I  was  born  and  I  have  lived  in  a  land  of  giants  ; 
giants  have  dragged  me  by  the  wrists  since  I  was  born 


Markheim  189 

out  of  my  mother  —  the  giants  of  circumstance.  And  you 
would  judge  me  by  my  acts !  But  can  you  not  look 
within  ?  Can  you  not  understand  that  evil  is  hateful 
to  me  ?  Can  you  not  see  within  me  the  clear  writing  of 
conscience,  never  blurred  by  any  wilful  sophistry  although 
too  often  disregarded  ?  Can  you  not  read  me  for  a  thing 
that  surely  must  be  common  as  humanity  —  the  unwilling 
sinner  ?  " 

11  All  this  is  very  feelingly  expressed,"  was  the  reply, 
"  but  it  regards  me  not.  These  points  of  consistency  are 
beyond  my  province,  and  I  care  not  in  the  least  by  what 
compulsion  you  may  have  been  dragged  away,  so  as  you 
are  but  carried  in  the  right  direction.  But  time  flies  ; 
the  servant  delays,  looking  in  the  faces  of  the  crowd  and 
at  the  pictures  on  the  hoardings,  but  still  she  keeps  moving 
nearer ;  and  remember,  it  is  as  if  the  gallows  itself  were 
striding  toward  you  through  the  Christmas  streets  !  Shall 
I  help  you  —  I,  who  know  all?  Shall  I  tell  you  where  to 
find  the  money  ?  " 

"  For  what  price  ?  "  asked  Markheim. 

"I  offer  you  the  service  for  a  Chris-tmas  gift,"  returned 
the  other. 

Markheim  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  with  a  kind 
of  bitter  triumph.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  will  take  nothing  at 
your  hands  ;  if  I  were  dying  of  thirst,  and  it  was  your 
hand  that -put  the  pitcher  to  my  lips,  I  should  find  the 
courage  to  refuse.  It  may  be  credulous,  but  I  will  do 
nothing  to  commit  myself  to  evil." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  a  death-bed  repentance,"  ob- 
served the  visitant. 

"  Because  you  disbelieve  their  efficacy !  "  Markheim  cried. 

"  I  do  not  say  so,"  returned  the  other;  "but  I  look  on 
these  things  from  a  different  side,  and  when  the  life  is 


190  Robert   Louis  Stevenson 

done  my  interest  falls.  The  man  has  lived  to  serve  me 
to  spread  black  looks  under  color  of  religion,  or  to  so1 
tares  in  the  wheat  field,  as  you  do,  in  a  course  of  wea 
compliance  with  desire.  Now  that  he  draws  so  near  t 
his  deliverance,  he  can  add  but  one  act  of  service  —  t 
repent,  to  die  smiling,  and  thus  to  build  up  in  confidenc 
and  hope  the  more  timorous  of  my  surviving  follower* 
I  am  not  so  hard  a  master.  Try  me.  Accept  my  helj 
Please  yourself  in  life  as  you  have  done  hitherto ;  pleas 
yourself  more  amply,  spread  your  elbows  at  the  board 
and  when  the  night  begins  to  fall  and  the  curtains  to  b 
drawn,  I  tell  you,  for  your  greater  comfort,  that  you  wi 
find  it  even  easy  to  compound  your  quarrel  with  your  cor 
science,  and  to  make  a  truckling  peace  with  God.  I  cam 
but  now  from  such  a  death-bed,  and  the  room  was  full  c 
sincere  mourners,  listening  to  the  man's  last  words ;  an 
when  I  looked  into  that  face,  which  had  been  set  as  a  fiiri 
against  mercy,  I  found  it  smiling  with  hope." 

"  And  do  you,  then,  suppose  me  such  a  creature  ?  "  aske< 
Markheim.  "  Do  you  think  I  have  no  more  generou 
aspirations  than  to  ski,  and  sin,  and  sin,  and,  at  last,  snea 
into  heaven  ?  My  heart  rises  at  the  thought.  Is  this 
then,  your  experience  of  mankind  ?  or  is  it  because  yo 
find  me  with  red  hands  that  you  presume  such  baseness 
and  is  this  crime  of  murder  indeed  so  impious  as  to  dry  ii] 
the  very  springs  of  good  ?  " 

"  Murder  is  to  me  no  special  category,"  replied  th> 
other.  "  All  sins  are  murder,  even  all  life  is  war. 
behold  your  race,  like  starving  mariners  on  a  raft,  pluck 
ing  crusts  out  of  the  hands  of  famine  and  feeding  on  eacl 
other's  lives.  I  follow  sins  beyond  the  moment  of  thei 
acting ;  I  find  in  all  that  the  last  consequence  is  death 
and  to  my  eyes,  the  pretty  maid  who  thwarts  her  mothe 


Markheim  191 

with  such  taking  graces  on  a  question  of  a  ball,  drips  no 
less  visibly  with  human  gore  than  such  a  murderer  as 
yourself.  Do  I  say  that  I  foltow  sins  ?  I  follow  virtues 
also ;  they  differ  not  by  the  thickness  of  a  nail,  they  are 
both  scythes  for  the  reaping  angel  of  Death.  Evil,  for 
which  I  live,  consists  not  in  action  but  in  character.  The 
bad  man  is  dear  to  me  ;  not  the  bad  act,  whose  fruits,  if 
we  could  follow  them  far  enough  down  the  hurtling  cataract 
of  the  ages,  might  yet  be  found  more  blessed  than  those  of 
the  rarest  virtues.  And  it  is  not  because  you  have  killed 
a  dealer,  but  because  you  are  Markheim,  that  I  offered  to 
forward  your  escape." 

"  I  will  lay  my  heart  open  to  you,"  answered  Markheim. 
"  This  crime  on  which  you  find  me  is  my  last.  On  my 
way  to  it- 1  have  learned  many  lessons;  itself  is  a  lesson, 
a  momentous  lesson.  Hitherto  I  have  been  driven  with 
revolt  to  what  I  would  not ;  I  was  a  bondslave  to  poverty, 
driven  and  scourged.  There  are  robust  virtues  that  can 
stand  in  these  temptations  ;  mine  was  not  so :  I  had  a 
thirst  of  pleasure.  But  to-day,  and  out  of  this  deed,  I 
pluck  both  warning  and  riches  —  both  the  power  and  a 
fresh  resolve  to  be  myself.  I  become  in  all  things  a  free 
actor  in  the  world ;  I  begin  to  see  myself  all  changed, 
these  hands  the  agents  of  good,  this  heart  at  peace.  Some- 
thing comes  over  me  out  of  the  past ;  something  of  what 
I  have  dreamed  on  Sabbath  evenings  to  the  sound  of  the 
church  organ,  of  what  I  forecast  when  I  shed  tears  over 
noble  books,  or  talked,  an  innocent  child,  with  my  mother. 
There  lies  my  life ;  I  have  wandered  a  few  years,  but  now 
I  see  once  more  my  city  of  destination." 

"  You  are  to  use  this  money  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  I 
think  ?  "  remarked  the  visitor ;  "  and  there,  if  I  mistake 
not,  you  have  already  lost  some  thousands  ?  " 


192 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 


"Ah,"  said  Markheim,  "but  this  time  I  have  a  sui 
thing." 

"  This  time,  again,  you  will  lose,"  replied  the  visito 
quietly. 

"  Ah,  but  I  keep  back  the  half  1  "  cried  Markheim. 

"That  also  you  will  lose,"  said  the  other. 

The  sweat  started  upon  Markheim 's  brow.  "  Well,  thei 
what  matter  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Say  it  be  lost,  say  I  a 
plunged  again  in  poverty,  shall  one  part  of  me,  and  th; 
the  worse,  continue  until  the  end  to  override  the  bettei 
Evil  and  good  run  strong  in  me,  hailing  me  both  ways, 
do  not  love  the  one  thing,  I  love  all.  I  can  conceive  gre; 
deeds,  renunciations,  martyrdoms  ;  and  though  I  be  falle 
to  such  a  crime  as  murder,  pity  is  no  stranger  to  IT 
thoughts.  I  pity  the  poor ;  who  knows  their  trials  bett< 
than  myself  ?  I  pity  and  help  them ;  I  prize  love,  I  kn 
honest  laughter  ;  there  is  no  good  thing  nor  true  thing  c 
earth  but  I  love  it  from  my  heart.  And  are  my  vices  on 
to  direct  my  life,  and  my  virtues  to  lie  without  effect,  lil 
some  passive  lumber  of  the  mind  ?  Not  so  ;  good,  also, 
a  spring  of  acts." 

But  the  visitant  raised  his  finger.  "  For  six-and-thin 
years  that  you  have  been  in  this  world,"  said  he,  "  throng 
many  changes  of  fortune  and  varieties  of  humor,  I  ha^ 
watched  you  steadily  fall.  Fifteen  years  ago  you  woul 
have  started  at  a  theft.  Three  years  back  you  would  tm 
blenched  at  the  name  of  murder.  Is  there  any  crime, 
there  any  cruelty  or  meanness,  from  which  you  still  recoi 
—  five  years  from  now  I  shall  detect  you  in  the  facl 
Downward,  downward  lies  your  way ;  nor  can  any  thin 
but  death  avail  to  stop  you." 

"  It  is  true,"  Markheim  said  huskily,  "  I  have  in  soni 
degree  complied  with  evil.     But  it  is  so  with  all :  the  ver 


Markheim  193 


saints,  in  the  mere  exercise  of  living,  grow  less  dainty,  and 
take  on  the  tone  of  their  surroundings." 

"  I  will  propound  to  you  one  simple  question,"  said  the 
other  ;  "  and  as  you  answer,  I  shall  read  to  you  your  moral 
horoscope.  You  have  grown  in  many  things  more  lax ; 
possibly  you  do  right  to  be  so ;  and  at  any  account,  it  is 
the  same  with  all  men.  But  granting  that,  are  you  in  any 
one  particular,  however  trifling,  more  difficult  to  please 
with  your  own  conduct,  or  do  you  go  in  all  things  with  a 
looser  rein  ?  " 

"  In  any  one  ?  "  repeated  Markheim,  with  an  anguish  of 
consideration.  "  No,"  he  added,  with  despair,  "  in  none  1 
I  have  gone  down  in  all." 

"Then,"  said  the  visitor,  "content  yourself  with  what 
you  are,  for  you  will  never  change  ;  and  the  words  of  your 
part  on  this  stage  are  irrevocably  written  down." 

Markheim  stood  for  a  long  while  silent,  and  indeed  it 
was  the  visitor  who  first  broke  the  silence.  "That  being 
so,"  he  said,  "  shall  I  show  you  the  money  ?  " 

"  And  grace  ?  "  cried  Markheim. 

"  Have  you  not  tried  it  ?  "  returned  the  other.  "  Two  or 
three  years  ago,  did  I  not  see  you  on  the  platform  of 
revival  meetings,  and  was  not  your  voice  the  loudest  in 
the  hymn  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Markheim;  "and  I  see  clearly  what 
remains  for  me  by  way  of  duty.  I  thank  you  for  these 
lessons  from  my  soul ;  my  eyes  are  opened,  and  I  behold 
myself  at  last  for  what  I  am." 

At  this  moment,  the  sharp  note  of  the  door-bell  rang 
through  the  house ;  and  the  visitant,  as  though  this  were 
some  concerted  signal  for  which  he  had  been  waiting, 
changed  at  once  in  his  demeanor. 

"  The  maid  1 "  he  cried.     "  She  has  returned,  as  I  fore- 


194  Robert   Louis  Stevenson 

warned  you,  and  there  is  now  before  you  one  more  difficult 
passage.  Her  master,  you  must  say,  is  ill ;  you  must  let 
her  in,  with  an  assured  but  rather  serious  countenance 

—  no  smiles,  no  overacting,  and  I  promise  you  success! 
Once  the  girl  within,  and  the  door  closed,  the  same  dex- 
terity that  has  already  rid  you  of  the  dealer  will  relieve 
you  of  this   last    danger    in    your    path.     Thenceforward 
you  have  the  whole  evening  —  the  wrhole  night,  if  needful 

—  to  ransack  the  treasures  of  the  house  and  to  make  good 
your  safety.     This  is  help  that  comes  to  you  with  the  mask 
of  danger.     Up  1  "  he  cried  :  "  up,  friend  ;  your  life  hangs 
trembling  in  the  scales  :    up,  and  act !  " 

Markheim  steadily  regarded  his  counsellor.  "  If  I  be 
condemned  to  evil  acts,"  he  said,  "  there  is  still  one  door 
of  freedom  open  —  I  can  cease  from  action.  If  my  life 
be  an  ill  thing,  I  can  lay  it  down.  Though  I  be,  as  you 
say  truly,  at  the  beck  of  every  small  temptation,  I  can 
yet,  by  one  decisive  gesture,  place  myself  beyond  the 
reach  of  all.  My  love  of  good  is  damned  to  barrenness ; 
it  may,  and  let  it  be  !  But  I  have  still  my  hatred  of  evil ; 
and  from  that,  to  your  galling  disappointment,  you  shall 
see  that  I  can  draw  both  energy  and  courage." 

The  features  of  the  visitor  began  to  undergo  a  wonder- 
ful and  lovely  change  :  they  brightened  and  softened  with 
a  tender  triumph;  and,  even  as  they  brightened,  faded 
and  dislimned.  But  Markheim  did  not  pause  to  watch 
or  understand  the  transformation.  He  opened  the  door 
and  went  downstairs  very  slowly,  thinking  to  himself. 
His  past  went  soberly  before  him  ;  he  beheld  it  as  it  was, 
ugly  and  strenuous  like  a  dream,  random  as  chance-med- 
ley —  a  scene  of  defeat.  Life,  as  he  thus  reviewed  it, 
tempted  him  no  longer ;  but  on  the  farther  side  he  per- 
ceived a  quiet  haven  for  his  bark.  He  paused  in  the 


Markheim  195 

passage,  and  looked  into  the  shop,  where  the  candle  still 
burned  by  the  dead  body.  It  was  strangely  silent. 
Thoughts  of  the  dealer  swarmed  into  his  mind,  as  he 
stood  gazing.  And  then  the  bell  once  more  broke  out 
into  impatient  clamor. 

He  confronted  the  maid  upon  the  threshold  with  some- 
thing like  a  smile. 

"  You  had  better  go  for  the  police,"  said  he :  "I  have 
killed  your  master." 


WEE   WILLIE  WINKIE 

"  An  officer  and  a  gentleman." 

His  full  name  was  Percival  William  Williams,  but  he 
picked  up  the  other  name  in  a  nursery-book,  and  that 
was  the  end  of  the  christened  titles.  His  mother's  ayah 
called  him  Willie-^^^,  but  as  he  never  paid  the  faintest 
attention  to  anything  that  the  ayah  said,  her  wisdom  did 
not  help  matters. 

His  father  was  the  Colonel  of  the  i95th,  and  as  soon 
as  Wee  Willie  Winkie  was  old  enough  to  understand  what 
Military  Discipline  meant,  Colonel  Williams  put  him 
under  it.  There  was  no  other  way  of  managing  the 
child.  When  he  was  good  for  a  week,  he  drew  good- 
conduct  pay ;  and  when  he  \vas  bad,  he  was.  deprived  of 
his  good-conduct  stripe.  Generally  he  was  bad,  for  India 
offers  so  many  chances  to  little  six-year-olds  of  going 
wrong. 

Children  resent  familiarity  from  strangers,  and  Wee 
Willie  Winkie  was  a  very  particular  child.  Once  he  ac- 
cepted an  acquaintance,  he  was  graciously  pleased  tc 
thaw7.  He  accepted  Brandis,  a  subaltern  of  the  i95th, 
on  sight.  Brandis  was  having  tea  at  the  Colonel's,  and 
Wee  Willie  Winkie  entered  strong  in  the  possession  of  a 
good-conduct  badge  won  for  not  chasing  the  hens  round 
the  compound.  He  regarded  Brandis  with  gravity  for  at 
least  ten  minutes,  and  then  delivered  himself  of  his 
opinion. 

"  I  like  you,"  said  he,  slowly,  getting  off  his  chair  and 
196 


RUDYARD  KIPLING 


Wee  Willie  Winkie  197 

coming  over  to  Brandis.  "  I  like  you.  I  shall  call  you 
Coppy,  because  of  your  hair.  Do  you  mind  being  called 
Coppy  ?  it  is  because  of  ve  hair,  you  know." 

Here  was  one  of  the  most  embarrassing  of  Wee  Willie  \ 
Winkie's  peculiarities.  He  would  look  at  a  stranger  for 
some  time,  and  then,  without  warning  or  explanation, 
would  give  him  a  name.  And  the  name  stuck.  No  regi- 
mental penalties  could  break  Wee  Willie  Winkie  of  this 
habit.  He  lost  his  good-conduct  badge  for  christening 
the  Commissioner's  wife  "  Fobs  " ;  but  nothing  that  the 
Colonel  could  do  made  the  Station  forego  the  nickname, 
and  Mrs.  Collen  remained  Mrs.  "  Fobs  "  till  the  end  of 
her  stay.  So  Brandis  was  christened  "  Coppy,"  and  rose, 
therefore,  in  the  estimation  of  the  regiment.  M 

If  Wee  Willie  Winkie  took  an  interest  in  any  one,  the 
fortunate  man  was  envied  alike  by  the  mess  and  the  rank 
and  file.  And  in  their  envy  lay  no  suspicion  of  self-inter- 
est. "  The  Colonel's  son  "  was  idolized  on  his  own  merits 
entirely.  Yet  Wee  Willie  Winkie  was  not  lovely.  His 
face  was  permanently  freckled,  as  his  legs  were  perma- 
nently scratched,  and  in  spite  of  his  mother's  almost  tear- 
ful remonstrances  he  had  insisted  upon  having  his  long 
yellow  locks  cut  short  in  the  military  fashion.  "  I  want 
my  hair  like  Sergeant  TumrmTs,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
and,  his  father  abetting,  the  sacrifice  was  accomplished/ 

Three  weeks  after  the  bestowal  of  his  youthful  affec- 
tions on  Lieutenant  Brandis  —  henceforward  to  be  called 
"Coppy"  for  the  sake  of  brevity  —  Wee  Willie  Winkie 
was  destined  to  behold  strange  things  and  far  beyond  his 
comprehension. 

Coppy  returned  his  liking  with  interest.  Coppy  had 
let  him  wear  for  five  rapturous  minutes  his  own  big  sword 
•t-just  as  tall  as  Wee  Willie  Winkie.  Coppy  had  prom- 


198  Rudyard  Kipling 

ised  him  a  terrier  puppy ;  and  Coppy  had  permitted  him 
to  witness  the  miraculous  operation  of  shaving.^  Nay, 
more  —  Coppy  had  said  that  even  he,  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
would  rise  in  time  to  the  ownership  of  a  box  of  shiny 
knives,  a  silver  soap-box  and  a  silver-handled  "sputter- 
brush,"  as  Wee  Willie  Winkie  called  it.  J  Decidedly,  there 
was  no  one  except  his  father,  who  could  give  or  take  away 
good-conduct  badges  at  pleasure,  half  so  wise,  strong, 
and  valiant  as  Coppy  with  the  Afghan  and  Egyptian 
medals  on  his  breast.  Why,  then,  should  Coppy  be  guilty 
of  the  unmanly  weakness  of  kissing  —  vehemently  kissing 
—  a  "  big  girl,"  Miss  Allardyce  to  wit?  In  the  course  of 
a  morning  ride,  Wee  Willie  Winkie  had  seen  Coppy  so 
doing,  and,  like  the  gentleman  he  was,  had  promptly 
wheeled  round  and  cantered  back  to  his  groom,  lest  the 
groom  should  also  see. 

Under   ordinary  circumstances  he  would   have  spoken 

to  his  father,  but  he  felt  instinctively  that  this  was  a  mat- 

\ter  on  which  Coppy  ought  first  to  be  consulted. 

~""  Coppy,"  shouted  Wee  Willie  WinkieJ  reining  up  out- 
side that  subaltern's  bungalow  early  one  morning) — "I 
want  to  see  you,  Coppy  !  " 

"  Come  in,  young  'un,"  returned  Coppy ,\ who  was  at 
early  breakfast  in  the  midst  of  his  dogs,)  "  What  mischief 
have  you  been  getting  into  now  ?  " 

(  Wee  Willie  Winkie  had  done  nothing  notoriously  bad 
rV>r  three  days,  and  so  stood  on  a  pinnacle  of  virtue.) 

"  I've  been  doing  nothing  bad,"  said  he,  curling  himself 
into  a  long  chair.  Vith  a  studious  affectation  of  the 
Colonel's  languor  after  a  hot  parade./  He  buried  his 
freckled  nose  in  a  tea-cup  and,  with  eyes  staring  roundly 
over  the  rim,  asked :  "  I  say,  Coppy,  is  it  pwoper  to 
kiss  big  girls  ?  " 


Wee  Willie  Winkie  199 

"  By  Jove !  You're  beginning  early.  Who  do  you 
want  to  kiss  ?  " 

"  No  one.  My  muvver's  always  kissing  me  if  I  don't 
stop  her.  If  it  isn't  pwoper,  how  was  you  kissing  Major 
Allardyce's  big  girl  last  morning,  by  ve  canal  ?  " 

Coppy's  brow  wrinkled.  He  and  Miss  Allardyce  had 
with  great  craft  managed  to  keep  their  engagement  secret 
for  a  fortnight.  There  were  urgent  and  imperative  rea- 
sons why  Major  Allardyce  should  not  know  how  matters 
stood  for  at  least  another  month,  and  this  small  marplot 
had  discovered  a  great  deal  too  much. 

"  I  saw  you,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  calmly.  "  But 
ve  groom  didn't  see.  I  said,  '  Hut  jaoS  " 

"  Oh,  you  had  that  much  sense,  you  young  Rip," 
groaned  poor  Coppy,  half  amused  and  half  angry.  "  And 
how  many  people  may  you  have  told  about  it  ?  " 

"Only  me  myself.  You  didn't  tell  when  I  twied  to 
wide  ve  buffalo  ven  my  pony  was  lame  ;  and  I  fought  you 
wouldn't  like." 

"Winkie,"  said  Coppy,  enthusiastically,  shaking  the 
small  hand,  "  you're  the  best  of  good  fellows.  Look  here, 
you  can't  understand  all  these  things.  One  of  these  days 
—  hang  it,  how  can  I  make  you  see  it  1  —  I'm  going  to 
marry  Miss  Allardyce,  and  then  she'll  be  Mrs.  Coppy,  as 
you  say.  If  your  young  mind  is  so  scandalized  at  the 
idea  of  kissing  big  girls,  go  and  tell  your  father." 

"What  will  happen?"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  who 
firmly  believed  that  his  father  was  omnipotent. 

"  I  shall  get  into  trouble,"  said  Coppy,  playing  his 
trump  card  with  an  appealing  look  at  the  holder  of  the  ace. 

"  Ven  I  won't,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  briefly.  "  But 
my  faver  says  it's  un-man-ly  to  be  always  kissing,  and  I 
didn't  fink  yoifd  do  vat,  Coppy." 


2oo  Rudyard   Kipling 

"  I'm  not  always  kissing,  old  chap.  It's  only  now  and 
then,  and  when  you're  bigger  you'll  do  it  too.  Your 
father  meant  it's  not  good  for  little  boys." 

**Ah !  "  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  now  fully  enlightened. 
"  It's  like  ve  sputter-brush?  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  Coppy,  gravely. 

"  But  I  don't  fink  I'll  ever  want  to  kiss  big  girls, 
nor  no  one,  'cept  my  muvver.  And  I  must  vat,  you 
know." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  broken  by  Wee  Willie  Winkie. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  vis  big  girl,  Coppy  ?  " 

"  Awfully  !  "  said  Coppy. 

"  Fonder  van  you  are  of  Bell  or  ve  Butcha  —  or  me  ?  " 

"  It's  in  a  different  way,"  said  Coppy.  "  You  see,  one 
of  these  days  Miss  Allardyce  will  belong  to  me,  but  you'll 
grow  up  and  command  the  Regiment  and  —  all  sorts  of 
things.  It's  quite  different,  you  see." 

"Very  well,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  rising.  "If 
you're  fond  of  ve  big  girl,  I  won't  tell  any  one.  I  must 
go  now." 

Coppy  rose  and  escorted  his  small  guest  to  the  door, 
adding:  "You're  the  best  of  little  fellows,  Winkie.  I  tell 
you  what.  In  thirty  days  from  now  you  can  tell  if  you 
like  — tell  any  one  you  like." 

Thus  the  secret  of  the  Brandis-Allardyce  engagement 
was  dependent  on  a  little  child's  word.  Coppy,  who 
knew  Wee  Willie  Winkie 's  idea  of  truth,  was  at  ease,  for 
he  felt  that  he  would  not  break  promises.  Wee  Willie 
Winkie  betrayed  a  special  and  unusual  interest  in  Miss 
Allardyce,  and,  slowly  revolving  round  that  embarrassed 
young  lady,  was  used  to  regard  her  gravely  with  unwink- 
ing eye.  He  was  trying  to  discover  why  Coppy  should 
have  kissed  her.  She  was  not  half  so  nice  as  his  own 


Wee  Willie  Winkie  -201 

mother.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  Coppy's  property, 
and  would  in  time  belong  to  him.  Therefore  it  behooved 
him  to  treat  her  with  as  much  respect  as  Coppy's  big 
sword  or  shiny  pistol. 

The  idea  that  he  shared  a  great  secret  in  common  with 
Coppy  kept  Wee  Willie  Winkie  unusually  virtuous  for 
three  weeks.  Then  the  Old  Adam  broke  out,  and  he 
made  what  he  called  a  " camp-fire''  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden.  How  could  he  have_Jores£en_that  the  flying 
sparks  would  have  lighte^  the.  Colonelj_Jittle  hayrick 
and  Consumed  a  week's  store  for  the  horses  ?  Sudden 
and  swift  was  the  punishment  —  deprivation  of  the  good- 
conduct  badge  and,  most  sorrowful  of  all,  two  days^'con- 
finement  to  barracks  -*-  the  house  and  veranda  —  coupled 
with  the  withdrawal  of  the  light  of  his  father's  counte- 
nance. 

fee  took  the  sentence  like  the  man  he  strove  to  be, 
drew  himself  up  with  a  quivering  under-lip,  saluted,  and, 
once  clear  of  the  room,  ran  to  weep  bitter  lyin  his  nursery 
—  called  by  him  "  my  quarters."  TCoppy  came  in  the 
afternoon  and  attempted  to  console  the  culprit.  ^ 

"  I'm  under  awwest,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  mourn- 
fully, "  and  I  didn't  ought  to  speak  to  you.'l 
*  Very  early  the  next  morning  he  climbed  on  to  the  roof 
of  the  house  —  that  was  not  forbidden  —  and  beheld  Miss 
Allardyce  going  for  a  ride. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  cried  Wee  Willie  Winkie. 

"Across  the  river,"  she  answered,  and  trotted  forward. 

Now  the  cantonment  in  which  the  iQ5th  lay  was 
bounded  on  the  north  by  a  river  —  dry  in  the  winter. 
From  his  earliest  years,  Wee  Willie  Winkie  had  been  for- 
bidden to  go  across  the  river,  and  had  noted  that  even 
Coppy  —  the  almost  almighty  Coppy  —  had  never  set  foot 


202  Rudyard   Kipling 

beyond  it.  \  Wee  Willie  Winkie  had  once  been  read  to, 
out  of  a  big  blue  book,  the  history  of  the  Princess  and 
the  Goblins  —  a  most  wonderful  tale  of  a  land  where  the 
Goblins  were  always  warring  with  the  children  of  men 
until  they  were  defeated  by  one  Curdie.  Ever  since  that 
date  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  bare  black  and  purple  hills 
across  the  river  were  inhabited  by  Goblins,  and,  in  truth, 
every  one  had  said  that  there  lived  the  Bad  Men.  Even 
in  his  own  house  the  lower  halves  of  the  windows  were 
covered  with  green  paper  on  account  of  the  Bad  Men  who 
might,  if  allowed  clear  view,  fire  into  peaceful  drawing- 
rooms  and  comfortable  bedrooms.  Certainly,  beyond  the 
river,  which  was  the  end  of  all  the  Earth,  lived  the  Bad 
Men.  And  here  was  Major  Allardyce's  big  girl,  Coppy's 
property,  preparing  to  venture  into  their  borders  !  What 
would  Coppy  say  if  anything  happened  to  her  ?  If  the 
Goblins  ran  off  with  her  as  they  did  with  Curdie 's  Prin- 
cess ?  She  must  at  all  hazards  be  turned  back.  / 

The  house  was  still.  Wee  Willie  Winkie  reflected  for 
a  moment  on  the  very  terrible  wrath  of  his  father ;  and 
then  —  broke  his  arrest !  It  was  a  crime  unspeakable. 
The  low  sun  threw  his  shadow,  very  large  and  very  black, 
on  the  trim  garden-paths,  as  he  went  down  to  the  stables 
and  ordered  his  pony.  It  seemed  to  him  in  the  hush  of 
the  dawn  that  all  the  big  world  had  been  bidden  to  stand 
still  and  look  at  Wee  Willie  Winkie  guilty  of  mutiny.  The 
drowsy  groom  handed  him  his  mount,  and,  since  the  one 
great  sin  made  all  others  insignificant,  Wee  Willie  Winkie 
said  that  he  was  going  to  ride  over  to  Coppy  Sahib,  and 
went  out  at  a  foot-pace,  stepping  on  the  soft  mould  of  the 
flower-borders. 

^The  devastating  track  of  the  pony's  feet  was  the  last 
misdeed  that  cut  him  off  from  all  sympathy  of  Humanity. 


Wee  Willie  Winkie  203 

He  turned  into  the  road,  leaned  forward,  and  rode  as  fast 
as  the  pony  could  put  foot  to  the  ground  in  the  direction 
of  the  river. 

But  the  liveliest  of  twelve-two  ponies  can  do  little 
against  the  long  canter  of  a  Waler.  Miss  Allardyce  was 
far  ahead,  had  passed  through  the  crops,  beyond  the 
Police-post,  when  all  the  guards  were  asleep,  and  her 
mount  was  scattering  the  pebbles  of  the  river  bed  as 
Wee  Willie  Winkie  left  the  cantonment  and  British  India 
behind  him.  Bowed  forward  and  still  flogging,  Wee  Willie 
Winkie  shot  into  Afghan  territory,  and  could  just  see 
Miss  Allardyce  a  black  speck,  flickering  across  the  stony 
plain.  The  reason  of  her  wandering  was  simple  enough. 
Coppy,  in  a  tone  of  too-hastily-assumed  authority,  had  told 
her  overnight  that  she  must  not  ride  out  by  the  river. 
And  she  had  gone  to  prove  her  own  spirit  and  teach 
Cgppy  a  lesson. 

Almost  at  the  foot  of  the  inhospitable  hills,  Wee  Willie 
Winkie  saw  the  Waler  blunder  and  corhe  down  heavily. 
Miss  Allardyce  struggled  clear,  but  her  ankle  had  been 
severely  twisted,  and  she  could  not  stand.  Having  thus 
demonstrated  her  spirit,  she  wept  copiously,  and  was  sur- 
prised by  the  apparition  of  a  white,  wide-eyed  child  in 
khaki,  on  a  nearly  spent  pony. 

"  Are  you  badly,  badly  hurted  ?  "  shouted  Wee  Willie 
Winkie,  as  soon  as  he  was  within  range.  "  You  didn't 
ought  to  be  here." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Allardyce,  ruefully,  ignoring 
the  reproof.  "  Good  gracious,  child,  what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

"You  said  you  was  going  acwoss  ve  wiver,"  panted 
Wee  Willie  Winkie,  throwing  himself  off  his  pony.  "  And 
nobody  —  not  even  Coppy  —  must  go  acwoss  ve  wiver, 


204  Rudyard   Kipling 

and  I  came  after  you  ever  so  hard,  but  you  wouldn't  stop, 
and  now  you've  hurted  yourself,  and  Coppy  will  be  angwy 
wiv  me,  and  —  I've  b woken  my  awwest !  I've  bwoken  my 
aw  west !  " 

The  future  Colonel  of  the  1 95th  sat  down  and  sobbed. 
In  spite  of  the  pain  in  her  ankle  the  girl  was  moved. 

"  Have  you  ridden  all  the  way  from  cantonments,  little 
man  ?  What  for  ?  " 

"  You  belonged  to  Coppy.  Coppy  told  me  so  !  "  wailed 
Wee  Willie  Winkie,  disconsolately.  "  I  saw  him  kissing 
you,  and  he  said  he  was  fonder  of  you  van  Bell  or  ve 
Butcha  or  me.  And  so  I  came.  You  must  get  up  and 
come  back.  You  didn't  ought  to  be  here.  Vis  is  a  bad 
place,  and  I've  bwoken  my  awwest." 

"I  can't  move,  Winkie,"  said  Miss  Allardyce,  with  a 
groan.  "I've  hurt  my  foot.  What  shall  I  do?" 

She  showed  a  readiness  to  weep  afresh,  which  steadied 
Wee  Willie  Winkie,  who  had  been  brought  up  to  believe 
that  tears  were  the  depth  of  unmanliness.  Still,  when 
one  is  as  great  a  sinner  as  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  even  a 
man  may  be  permitted  to  break  down. 

"Winkie,"  said  Miss  Allardyce,  "when  you've  rested 
a  little,  ride  back  and  tell  them  to  send  out  something  to 
carry  me  back  in.  It  hurts  fearfully." 

The  child  sat  still  for  a  little  time  and  Miss  Allardyce 
closed  her  eyes ;  the  pain  was  nearly  making  her  faint. 
She  was  roused  by  Wee  Willie  Winkie  tying  up  the  reins 
on  his  pony's  neck  and  setting  it  free  with  a  vicious  cut 
of  his  whip  that  made  it  whicker.  The  little  animal 
headed  toward  the  cantonments. 

"  Oh,  Winkie  !     What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Hush !  "  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie.  "  Vere's  a  man 
coming —  one  of  ve  Bad  Men.  I  must  stay  wiv  you.  My 


Wee  Willie   Winkie  205 

faver  says  a  man  must  always  look  after  a  girl.  Jack  will 
go  home,  and  ven  vey'll  come  and  look  for  us.  Vat's  why 
I  let  him  go." 

Not  one  man  but  two  or  three  had  appeared  from  be- 
hind the  rocks  of  the  hills,  and  the  heart  of  Wee  Willie 
Winkie  sank  within  him,  for  just  in  this  manner  were  the 
Goblins  wont  to  steal  out  and  vex  Curdie's  soul.  Thus 
had  they  played  in  Curdie's  garden,  he  had  seen  the  pic- 
ture, and  thus  had  they  frightened  the  Princess's  nurse. 
He  heard  them  talking  to  each  other,  and  recognized  with 
joy  the  bastard  Pushto  that  he  had  picked  up  from  one 
of  his  father's  grooms  lately  dismissed.  People  who 
spoke  that  tongue  could  not  be  the  Bad  Men.  They  were 
only  natives  after  all. 

They  came  up  to  the  boulders  on  which  Miss  Allar- 
dyce's  horse  had  blundered. 

Then  rose  from  the  rock  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  child  of 
the  Dominant  Race,  aged  six  and  three-quarters,  and  said 
briefly  and  emphatically  "Jao!"  The  pony  had  crossed 
the  river-bed. 

The  men  laughed,  and  laughter  from  natives  was  the 
one  thing  Wee  Willie  Winkie  could  not  tolerate.  He  asked 
them  what  they  wanted  and  why  they  did  not  depart. 
Other  men  with  most  evil  faces  and  crooked-stocked  guns 
crept  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  hills,  till,  soon,  Wee 
Willie  Winkie  was  face  to  face  with  an  audience  some 
twenty  strong.  Miss  Allardyce  screamed. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  I  arn  the  Colonel  Sahib's  son,  and  my  order  is  that 
you  go  at  once.  You  black  men  are  frightening  the  Miss 
Sahib.  One  of  you  must  run  into  cantonments  and  take 
the  news  that  Miss  Sahib  has  hurt  herself,  and  that  the 
Colonel's  son  is  here  with  her." 


206  Rudyard   Kipling 

"  Put  our  feet  into  the  trap  ?  "  was  the  laughing  reply. 
"  Hear  this  boy's  speech  I  " 

"  Say  that  I  sent  you  —  I,  the  Colonel's  son.  They 
will  give  you  money." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  this  talk?  Take  up  the  child  and 
the  girl,  and  we  can  at  least  ask  for  the  ransom.  Ours 
are  the  villages  on  the  heights,"  said  a  voice  in  the  back- 
ground. 

These  were  the  Bad  Men  —  worse  than  Goblins  —  and 
it  needed  all  Wee  Willie  Winkie's  training  to  prevent  him 
from  bursting  into  tears.  But  he  felt  that  to  cry  before 
a  native,  excepting  only  his  mother's  ayah,  would  be  an 
infamy  greater  than  any  mutiny.  Moreover,  he  as  future 
Colonel  of  the  i95th,  had  that  grim  regiment  at  his  back. 

"Are  you  going  to  carry  us  away?"  said  Wee  Willie 
Winkie,  very  blanched  and  uncomfortable. 

"Yes,  my  little  Sahib  Bahadur"  said  the  tallest  of  the 
men,  "  and  eat  you  afterward." 

"  That  is  child's  talk,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie.  "  Men 
do  not  eat  men." 

A  yell  of  laughter  interrupted  him,  but  he  went  on 
firmly,  —  "And  if  you  do  carry  us  away,  I  tell  you  that 
all  my  regiment  will  come  up  in  a  day  and  kill  you  all 
without  leaving  one.  Who  will  take  my  message  to  the 
Colonel  Sahib  ?  " 

Speech  in  any  vernacular  —  and  Wee  Willie  Winkie  had 
a  colloquial  acquaintance  with  three  —  was  easy  to  the 
boy  who  could  not  yet  manage  his  "  r's  "  and  "th's" 
aright. 

Another  man  joined  the  conference,  crying :  "  O  fool- 
ish men !  What  this  babe  says  is  true.  He  is  the  heart's 
heart  of  those  white  troops.  For  the  sake  of  peace  let 
them  go  both,  for  if  he  be  taken,  the  regiment  will  break 


Wee  Willie  Winkle  -207 

loose  and  gut  the  valley.  Our  villages  are  in  the  valley, 
and  we  shall  not  escape.  That  regiment  are  devils. 
They  broke  Khoda  Yar's  breast-bone  with  kicks  when  he 
tried  to  take  the  rifles ;  and  if  we  touch  this  child  they 
will  fire  and  rape  and  plunder  for  a  month,  till  nothing 
remains.  Better  to  send  a  man  back  to  take  the  message 
and  get  a  reward.  I  say  that  this  child  is  their  God,  and 
that  they  will  spare  none  of  us,  nor  our  wromen,  if  we 
harm  him." 

It  was  Din  Mahommed,  the  dismissed  groom  of  the 
Colonel,  who  made  the  diversion,  and  an  angry  and 
heated  discussion  followed.  Wee  Willie  Winkie  standing 
over  Miss  Allardyce,  waited  the  upshot.  Surely  his 
"wegiment,"  his  own  "  wegiment,"  would  not  desert  him 
if  they  knew  of  his  extremity. 

#  #  *  *  *  # 

The  riderless  pony  brought  the  news  to  the  iQ5th, 
though  there  had  been  consternation  in  the  Colonel's 
household  for  an  hour  before.  The  little  beast  came  in 
through  the  parade  ground  in  front  of  the  main  barracks, 
where  the  men  were  settling  down  to  play  Spoil-five  till 
the  afternoon.  Devlin,  the  Color  Sergeant  of  E  Com- 
pany, glanced  at  the  empty  saddle  and  tumbled  through 
the  barrack-rooms,  kicking  up  each  Room  Corporal  as  he 
passed.  "  Up,  ye  beggars  !  There's  something  happened 
to  the  Colonel's  son,"  he  shouted. 

"  He  couldn't  fall  off !  S'elp  me,  'e  couldn't  fall  off," 
blubbered  a  drummer-boy.  "Go  an'  hunt  acrost  the 
river.  He's  over  there  if  he's  anywhere,  an'  maybe  those 
Path  an  s  have  got  'im.  For  the  love  o'  Gawd  don't  look 
for  'im  in  the  nullahs  !  Let's  go  over  the  river." 

"There's  sense  in  Mott  yet,"  said  Devlin.  "  E  Com- 
pany, double  out  to  the  river  —  sharp  !  " 


2o8  Rudyard  Kipling 

So  E  Company,  in  its  shirt-sleeves  mainly,  doubled  for 
the  dear  life,  and  in  the  rear  toiled  the  perspiring  Ser- 
geant, adjuring  it  to  double  yet  faster.  The  cantonment 
was  alive  with  the  men  of  the  iQ5th  hunting  for  Wee 
Willie  Winkie,  and  the  Colonel  finally  overtook  E  Com- 
pany, far  too  exhausted  to  swear,  struggling  in  the  peb- 
bles of  the  river-bed. 

Up  the  hill  under  which  Wee  Willie  Winkie's  Bad  Men 
were  discussing  the  wisdom  of  carrying  off  the  child  and 
the  girl,  a  look-out  fired  two  shots. 

"  What  have  I  said  ? "  shouted  Din  Mahommed. 
"  There  is  the  warning!  The  pulton  are  out  already  and 
are  coming  across  the  plain  I  Get  away  !  Let  us  not  be 
seen  with  the  boy !  " 

The  men  waited  for  an  instant,  and  then,  as  another 
shot  was  fired,  withdrew  into  the  hills,  silently  as  they 
had  appeared. 

"  The  wegiment  is  coming,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
confidently,  to  Miss  Allardyce,  "  and  it's  all  wight.  Don't 
cwy !  " 

He  needed  the  advice  himself,  for  ten  minutes  later, 
when  his  father  came  up,  he  was  weeping  bitterly  with 
his  head  in  Miss  Allardyce 's  lap. 

And  the  men  of  the  iQ5th  carried  him  home  with 
shouts  and  rejoicings ;  and  Coppy,  who  had  ridden  a 
horse  into  a  lather,  met  him,  and,  to  his  intense  disgust, 
kissed  him  openly  in  the  presence  of  the  men. 

But  there  was  balm  for  his  dignity.  His  father  assured 
him  that  not  only  would  the  breaking  of  arrest  be  con- 
doned, but  that  the  good-conduct  badge  would  be  restored 
as  soon  as  his  mother  could  sew  it  on  his  blouse-sleeve. 
Miss  Allardyce  had  told  the  Colonel  a  story  that  made 
him  proud  of  his  son. 


Wee  Willie  Winkie  209 

"  She  belonged  to  you,  Coppy,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
indicating  Miss  Allardyce  with  a  grimy  forefinger.  "  I 
knew  she  didn't  ought  to  go  acwoss  ve  wiver,  and  I  knew 
ve  wegiment  would  come  to  me  if  I  sent  Jack  home." 

"You're  a  hero,  Winkie,''  said  Coppy — "a  pukka 
hero !  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  vat  means,"  said  Wee  Willie 
Winkie,  "but  you  mustn't  call  me  Winkie  any  no  more. 
I'm  Percival  Will'am  WilPams." 

And  in  this  manner  did  Wee  Willie  Winkie  enter  into 
his  manhood. 


NOTES 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 

Washington  Irving,  the  son  of  a  Scotch  merchant,  was  born  in 
New  York,  April  3,  1783.  As  his  health  was  delicate  his  educa- 
tion was  desultory,  and  at  sixteen  he  began  to  study  law  but  without 
'much  seriousness.  He  spent  most  of  the  time  in  reading,  being  in 
this  way  really  self-educated.  His  health  continuing  a  matter  of 
concern,  he  took  many  excursions  up  the  state  to  the  woods,  with 
much  physical  benefit.  In  many  of  the  up-state  towns  he  mingled 
in  society  to  such  a  degree  that  he  was  in  danger  of  becoming  a 
mere  society  man.  However,  all  the  time  he  was  doing  some  writ- 
ing, a  part  of  which  appeared  in  The  Morning  Chronicle  when  he 
was  but  nineteen. 

In  1804,  his  health  continuing  poor,  it  was  decided  to  send  him  to 
Europe.  There  he  stayed  nearly  two  years,  visiting  France,  Eng- 
land, and  Italy,  being  everywhere  received  by  society  and  meeting 
the  best  people,  as  he  was  a  remarkably  agreeable  young  man. 
The  trip  completely  restored  his  health. 

On  his  return  to  America  in  1806,  he  again  plunged  into  society, 
giving,  however,  a  hint  of  his  future  occupation  in  Salmagundi,  a 
semi-monthly  periodical  of  short  duration,  on  the  model  of  The 
Spectator,  written  in  conjunction  with  two  of  his  brothers  in  1807— 
1808.  In  the  meantime  he  had  been  admitted  to  the  bar.  In  1809 
appeared  "  The  Knickerbocker  History  of  New  York,"  a  piece  of 
humor  and  satire  which  made  him  famous.  At  this  time  occurred 
the  death  of  his  fiancee,  a  loss  from  which  he  never  recovered.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  War  of  1812  he  served  for  four  months  on  the 
staff  of  the  Governor  of  New  York. 

In  1815  he  went  again  to  Europe,  this  time  on  the  business  of  his 
brothers'  firm,  to  which  he  had  been  admitted,  and  he  stayed  there 
seventeen  years.  The  firm  failing  in  1818,  he  turned  to  literature 
and  began  the  publication  in  1819  of  "  The  Sketch-Book,"  a  collec- 
tion of  sketches  and  narratives  in  the  manner  of  The  Spectator.  This 
book  definitely  established  him  as  an  author,  being  received  both 

211 


2 1 2  Notes 

in  America  and  in  England  with  delight.  Besides  being  successful 
financially  it  gave  him  an  introduction  to  literary  society.  "  Brace- 
bridge  Hall"  and  "  The  Tales  of  a  Traveller"  appeared  soon  after, 
in  1822  and  1824  respectively.  Irving  himself  had  been  for  years 
much  of  a  traveller,  both  from  inclination  and  from  the  demands  of 
his  health. 

In  1826  Irving  went  to  Spain  to  write  his  "  Life  and  Voyages  of 
Columbus,"  which  appeared  in  1828.  This  residence  in  Spain,  which 
lasted  till  September,  1829,  was  a  fruitful  one,  as  Spanish  subjects 
appealed  to  his  imagination.  Besides  the  "  Columbus,"  he  wrote, 
"  The  Conquest  of  Granada,"  "  The  Companions  of  Columbus,"  and 
"  The  Alhambra."  These  books  were  financially  profitable  in  ad- 
dition to  being  literary  successes.  Throughout  these  years  he 
enjoyed,  as  usual,  the  pleasures  of  charming  society.  His  stay  in 
Spain  was  terminated  by  his  unexpected  appointment  as  Secretary 
of  Legation  to  the  Court  of  St.  James. 

Returning  to  England,  he  was  received  with  honors,  the  Royal 
Society  of  Literature  awarding  him  in  1830  one  of  the  two  annual 
medals  and  the  University  of  Oxford  making  him  an  honorary  D.C.L. 
In  1831  he  resigned  and  the  next  year  returned  to  America. 

America  greeted  him  with  enthusiasm.  After  an  extended  tour 
of  the  South  and  West  he  settled  at  Tarrytown,  on  the  Hudson,  a 
few  miles  north  of  New  York,  to  enjoy  the  domestic  life  afforded 
by  numerous  relatives,  and  to  do  the  writing  which  was  more  than 
ever  necessary  for  the  support  of  the  relatives  who  had  become 
dependent  on  him.  At  Sunnyside,  as  his  -place  was  named,  he 
resolutely  devoted  himself  to  literary  work,  after  declining  several 
offers  of  public  office.  He  was  a  regular  contributor  to  The  Knick- 
erbocker Magazine  at  an  annual  salary,  and  he  wrote  several  vol- 
umes, not  now  much  read,  while  working  on  more  ambitious  literary 
projects. 

In  1842  he  received  the  unexpected  and  unsolicited  honor  of 
appointment  as  Minister  to  Spain.  For  four  years  he  continued  in 
office,  performing  his  duties  with  tact  and  discretion.  In  1846  he 
returned  finally  to  his  home,  where  he  devoted  his  last  days  to  a 
long-contemplated  "  Life  of  Washington,"  a  task  almost  beyond  his 
powers.  On  the  28th  of  November,  1850,  he  died,  honored  as  no 
American  man  of  letters  had  ever  been. 


Washington   Irving  213 

REFERENCES 
Biography 

WARNER  :  Washington  Irving. 
BOYNTON  :  Washington  Irving. 

Criticism 

HOWELLS  :   My  Literary  Passions. 

THACKERAY  :  Nil  Nisi  Bonum  (Roundabout  Papers). 

RICHARDSON  :  American  Literature. 

NOTES   TO   "RIP   VAN   WINKLE" 

This  story  appeared  with  four  other  papers  in  the  first  number  of 
"  The  Sketch-Book,"  which  was  published  in  America  in  May,  1819, 
as  the  work  of  one  Geoffrey  Crayon. 

PAGE  1.  Diedrich  Knickerbocker :  the  supposed  author  of  "  The 
Knickerbocker  History  of  New  York."  All  this  prefatory  matter  is 
merely  to  carry  out  the  pretence,  as  do  the  Note  and  Postscript 
at  the  end. 

2.  Peter  Stuyvesant :  last  Dutch  governor  of  New  York,  born 
in  Holland  in  1592,  died  in  New  York  in  1672.  A  man  of  short 
temper  and  with  a  wooden  leg  from  the  knee.  Fort  Christina : 
built  by  the  Swedes  on  the  Delaware  River  near  the  present 
city  of  Wilmington.  There  was  no  fighting. 

15.  Federal  or  Democrat :  the  two  political  parties  after  the  close 
of  the  Revolutionary  War.         tory :  name  applied  to  all  followers 
of  the  king  during  the  war. 

16.  Stony   Point :    this  promontory   on  the   west   bank  of  the 
Hudson  was  captured  by  the  British,  and  later  recaptured  by  the 
Americans  under  General  Anthony  Wayne.         Antony's  Nose :    a 
bold  cliff,  in  the  shape  of   a  nose,  on  the  east  bank  of  the  river. 
The  name  is  now  usually  spelled  with  an  h. 

18.  Hendrick  Hudson  :  really  Henry  Hudson,  an  Englishman  in 
the  employ  of  the  Dutch  East  India  Company.  He  was  on  a 
voyage  to  discover  a  northeast  passage,  when  he  explored  the 
river  which  bears  his  name.  The  Half  Moon  was  the  name  of  his 
boat. 


EDGAR   ALLAN  POE 

Edgar  Allan  Poe,  the  child  of  poor  travelling  actors,  was  born  in 
Boston,  January  19,  1809.  Left  an  orphan  in  his  third  year,  he  was 
taken  into  the  family  of  Mr.  John  Allan  of  Richmond,  who  gave  him 
his  name.  Soon  he  became  a  great  pet  of  his  foster-parents,  who 
rather  spoiled  him.  In  1815  the  Allans  went  to  England,  where  the 
boy  was  in  school  at  Stoke  Newington,  a  suburb  of  London,  till 
June,  1820,  when  the  family  returned  to  Richmond.  His  education 
was  continued  in  private  schools  and  by  the  aid  of  tutors  till  he 
entered  the  University  of  Virginia,  February  14,  1826.  At  the 
University  he  developed  a  passion  for  drink  and  gambling,  which 
led  Mr.  Allan  to  place  him  in  his  own  counting-room  at  the  end  of 
the  session  in  December,  though  he  had  done  extremely  well  in 
some  of  his  studies.  Not  liking  the  irksomeness  of  this  occupation, 
Poe  left  to  make  his  own  way. 

He  first  went  to  Boston,  where  he  succeeded  in  having  some  of 
his  verses  published.  His  resources  failing,  he  enlisted  in  the 
United  States  Army,  being  assigned  to  the  artillery  and  serving  in 
different  stations,  among  them  Fort  Moultrie  at  Charleston,  South 
Carolina.  His  conduct  being  excellent,  he  was  appointed  Sergeant- 
major  in  1829.  Shortly  afterward  he  was  reconciled  to  Mr.  Allan, 
who  secured  him  an  appointment  to  West  Point.  At  the  Acad- 
emy he  neglected  his  duty,  was  court-martialled,  and  was  dismissed 
March  7,  1831. 

Poe  now  settled  in  Baltimore,  where  he  devoted  himself  to  writ- 
ing, winning  a  prize  of  one  hundred  dollars  for  his  tale,  "  A  MS. 
Found  in  a  Bottle."  He  lived  with  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Clemm,  to  whose 
daughter  he  became  engaged  and  whom  he  married  in  1836  in  Rich- 
mond, where  he  had  gone  to  become  an  assistant  on  The  Southern 
Literary  Messenger. 

His  habits  and  unfortunate  disposition  made  it  impossible  for  him 
to  remain  long  in  one  position.  After  some  drifting,  he  settled  in 
Philadelphia  in  1838,  where  he  did  hack  work  until  he  became 
associate  editor  of  Burton^s  Gentleman"1  s  Magazine  and  American 
Monthly  Review  in  July,  1839.  In  1840  appeared  a  volume  of 

214 


Edgar  Allan   Poe  215 


tales  which  attracted  favorable  notice.  In  1841  he  became  editor 
of  Graham's  Magazine,  but  in  this  year,  too,  his  wife  became  a  hope- 
less invalid.  Anxiety  about  her  had  doubtless  much  to  do  with  the 
subsequent  condition  of  Foe's  mind.  In  the  next  year  again  he  lost 
his  position.  At  this  time  he  fell  into  wretched  poverty.  Then,  as 
always,  his  aunt  gave  him  the  devotion  of  a  mother.  The  fortunate 
gaining  of  another  hundred-dollar  prize,  this  time  for  "  The  Gold 
Bug,"  helped  along  together  with  some  work  on  Graham's  in  a 
minor  capacity. 

New  York  was  his  next  location,  where  he  was  on  The  Evening 
Mirror.  In  1845  his  "  Raven  "  was  published  and  at  once  sprang 
into  phenomenal  favor.  Lecturing,  magazine  work,  and  the  editing 
of  The  Broad^vay  Journal  occupied  the  next  year.  In  1846  he 
moved  to  Fordham.  There  ill-health  and  poverty  so  oppressed  him 
that  money  had  to  be  raised  to  take  care  of  the  family.  In  1847 
Mrs.  Poe  died.  From  this  time  till  his  own  death, lxOctober74..1849,_ 
his  mind,  long  clouded  and  affected  by  his  habits,  became  hopelessly 
diseased. 

Poe  was  a  genius  of  great  analytical  power  and  imagination,  but 
unstable  and  morbid.  His  ability  has  always  received  great  recog- 
nition in  Europe,  particularly  in  France,  where  a  translation  of  his 
tales  appeared  in  his  lifetime. 

REFERENCES 
Biography 

WOODBERRY  :  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

HARRISON  :  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 
Criticism 

STEDMAN  :  Poets  of  America. 
GATES  :  Studies  and  Appreciations. 
BROWNELL:  American  Prose  Masters. 


NOTES   TO   "THE    GOLD   BUG" 

This  story,  which  is  classed  in  the  group  entitled  "  Stories  of 
Ratiocination  "  (see  Introduction),  was  first  published  in  The  Dollar 
Newspaper  of  Philadelphia  in  June,  1843,  winning  a  prize  of  one 
hundred  dollars. 


216  Notes 

PAGE  23.  Tarantula :  the  bite  of  this  spider  was  once  supposed 
to  cause  a  form  of  madness  which  made  the  victim  dance.  Com- 
pare the  musical  term  "  tarantelle."  Huguenot :  French  Protes- 
tant. Many  fled  to  South  Carolina  from  persecutions  in  France. 
Sullivan's  Island  :  Poe  has  been  criticised  for  his  inaccuracies  con- 
cerning this  island.  He  should  have  known  it  well,  as  he  was  sta- 
tioned at  Fort  Moultrie  in  1828  when  a  private  in  the  United  States 
Artillery. 

24.  Swammerdamm :  Jan  Swammerdam  —  one  final  m  accord- 
ing to  the  Century  Dictionary — (1637-1680).  A  distinguished 
Dutch  naturalist. 

27.  scarab asus  caput  hominis  :  (Latin)  a  man's  head  beetle.  There 
is  no  such  species  known. 

29.  syphon  :  Negro  dialect  for  ciphering,  a  colloquial  word  for 
"reckoning  in  figures."  Poe  hardly  seems  successful  in  represent- 
ing the  sounds  of  the  speech  of  Negroes.  Not  much  attention  had 
been  paid  to  the  subject  in  literature  at  that  time.  To-day,  since 
the  work  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris  in  "  Uncle  Remus "  and  of 
Thomas  Nelson  Page  in  "  In  Ole  Virginia,"  we  rather  look  down 
on  these  early  crude  attempts.  noovers  :  Negro  dialect  for  ma- 
noeuvres in  the  sense  of  movements. 

32.   empressement :  (French)  eagerness. 

44.  curvets  and  caracoles  :  the  prancing  and  turning  of  a  horse. 

45.  violent  bowlings  of  the  dog  :  it  is  popularly  supposed  that  a 
dog,   through   its  extraordinary  sense    of   smell,   can    indicate    the 
presence  of  parts  of  a  human  body,  though  buried. 

48.  counter  :  obsolete  term  for  pieces  of  money. 

49.  solution  of  this  most  extraordinary  riddle  :  this  story  exem- 
plifies Poe's  power  in  such  work.    He  specialized  on  it  in  magazines. 

52.  long  boat :  "  The  largest  and  strongest  boat  belonging  to  a 
sailing  ship." —  Century  Dictionary. 

54.  aqua  regia :    (Latin)  royal  water.     A  chemical  compound  so 
called  from  its  power  of  dissolving  gold.        regulus  of  cobalt :  early 
chemical  term  referring  to  the  metallic  mass  of  an  ore. 

55.  Captain  Kidd  :  William  Kidd,  about  whose  early  life  nothing 
is  positively  known,  was  commissioned  by  the  Governor  of  Massa- 
chusetts Bay  Colony  in  1695  to  put  down  piracy.    With  a  good  ship 
under  him,  however,  he  himself  turned  pirate.     On  his  return  he 


Edgar  Allan   Poe  217 

was  arrested,  sent  to  England,  tried,  and  executed  in  London  in 
1701.  Some  of  his  buried  treasure  was  recovered  by  the  colonial 
authorities  in  1699. 

58.  Golconda :  a  place  near  Hyderabad,  India,  noted  for  its  dia- 
monds,        cryptographs :  from  two  Greek  words  meaning  hidden 
and  write.     The  commoner  term  is  "  cryptogram." 

59.  Spanish  main :  the  ocean  near  the  coast  of  South  America 
and  the  adjacent  parts  of  the  Caribbean  Sea  over  which  the  Span- 
iards exercised  power. 

67.   insignium  :  (Latin)  a  sign. 

NOTES  TO  "THE  PURLOINED  LETTER" 

This  detective  story  was  published  in  «*  The  Gift "  for  1845. 

PAGE  69.  Nil  sapientiae,  etc. :  (Latin)  Nothing  is  more  hateful  to 
wisdom  than  too  great  acuteness.  C.  Auguste  Dupin  :  clever  ama- 
teur who  solves  the  mysteries  which  baffle  the  police.  Most  writers 
of  detective  stories  follow  this  example  set  by  Poe.  au  troisieme  : 
(French)  on  the  third  floor.  Faubourg  :  (French)  section  of  a  city. 
Saint  Germain  :  a  section  of  Paris  on  the  south  bank  of  the  Seine, 
once  the  abode  of  the  French  nobility.  affair  of  the  Rue  Morgue  : 
a  reference  to  the  detective  story,  "  The  Murders  in  the  Rue 
Morgue."  the  murder  of  Marie  Roget :  a  reference  to  another 
detective  story,  "  The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget."  The  writer  is  play- 
ing the  same  part  as  does  Dr.  Watson  in  the  various  Sherlock 
Holmes  stories  by  Conan  Doyle.  Prefect  :  (French)  chief. 

71.  cant  of  diplomacy  :  set  phrases  used  in  intercourse  between 
representatives  of  governments  by  which  they  hint  at  their  meaning. 

73.    hotel:  (French)  residence.         au  fait :   (French)  expert. 

76.  microscope  :  since  Poe's  time  the  microscope  is,  in  stories, 
almost  an  invariable  part  of  a  detective's  outfit. 

79.  Abernethy:    John   Abernethy    (1764-1831).      A    celebrated 
London  physician. 

80.  escritoire  :  "  A  piece  of  furniture  with  conveniences  for  writ- 
ing, as  an  opening  top  or  falling  front  panel,  places  for  inkstand, 
pens,  and  stationery,  etc."  —  Century  Dictionary.       Procrustean  bed  : 
In  Greek  mythology,  Procrustes  (derivatively  "  the  stretcher  ")  was 


2i8  Notes 

a  giant  who  tied  those  whom  he  caught  on  a  bed,  making  them  fit 
by  stretching  them  out  if  too  short,  and  by  cutting  off  their  limbs  if 
too  long. 

82.  Rochefoucauld:  Francois  La  Rochefoucauld  (1613-1680).    A 
French  moralist  known  for  his  "  Maxims  "  published  in  1665.         La 
Bougive  :  In  the  edition  of  Poe's  works  prepared  by  Edmund  Clar- 
ence Stedman  and  Professor  George  Edward  Woodberry,  this  name 
is  given  as  La  Bruyere.     Jean  de  La  Bruyere   (1645-1696)  was  a 
French  moralist.         Machiavelli :  Nicolo  Machiavelli  (1469-1527). 
A  celebrated  statesman  and  writer  of  Florence,  Italy,  whose  book 
"  The  Prince  "  is  based  on  unscrupulous  principles.         Campanella  : 
Tomaso  Campanella  (1568-1639).     An  Italian  writer. 

83.  recherche  :    (French)  far-fetched.         policial :    a  rare  word, 
meaning  "  pertaining  to  the  police." 

84.  non  distributio  medii  :  (Latin)  a  non-distribution  of  the  middle, 
or  the  undistributed  middle.     This  is  a  mistake  in  reasoning.     When 
the  Prefect  reasons  that  all  fools  are  poets,  therefore  all  poets  are 
fools,  he  has  no  middle  term  at  all ;  that  is,  no  class  of  which  poets 
and  fools  are  both  members.     Correct  reasoning  is  represented  by 
this :  all  men  are  mortal ;  John  is  a  man ;  therefore  John  is  mortal. 
Between  mortal  and  John,  two  terms,  there  is  a  middle  term,  men, 
of  which  both  are  members.         Differential  Calculus  :  a  higher  form 
of  mathematics.         par  excellence:  (French)  above  all.         II  y  a, 
etc.  :   (French).       The  odds  are  that  every  public  idea,  every  accepted 
convention,  is  a  foolish  trick,  for  it  is  suitable  for  the  greatest  number. 
Chamfort:    Sebastian    Roch   Nicolas    Chamfort    (1741-1794).      A 
French  writer  of  maxims.       ambitus:  (Latin)  a  going  around.     Poe 
means  by  this  example  and  by  those  that  follow  that  mere  similarity 
of  two  words  does  not  make  them  of  the  same  meaning. 

85.  Bryant :  Jacob  Bryant  (1715-1804).     An  English  writer  on 
mythology. 

86.  intrigant:  (French)  intriger. 

87.  vis  inertiae :  (Latin)  the  force  of  inertia,  the  same  as  inertia, 
a  term  of  physics  which  denotes  the  tendency  of  a  body  to  remain 
at  rest  or  in  motion. 

88.  ministerial  hotel :  house  of  the  minister  or  cabinet  officer. 
92.   facilis    descensus    Averni:    a    misquotation    from   Vergil's 

"Aeneid,"  Book  VI,  line  126.      It   should  be    "facilis    descensus 


Edgar  Allan  Poe  219 

Averno,"  easy  is  the  descent  to  Avermis.  Catalan! :  Angelica 
Catalan!  (1779-1849).  An  Italian  singer.  monstrum  horrendum  : 
(Latin)  a  horrible  monster,  the  epithet  applied  to  the  one-eyed  giant, 
Polyphemus,  in  Vergil's  "  Aeneid,"  Book  III,  line  658.  Un  des- 
sein,  etc.  :  (French).  A  design  so  fatal,  if  it  is  not  worthy  of  Atree,  it  is 
worthy  of  Thyeste.  CrSbillon's  "  Atree  "  :  Prosper  Jolyot  de  Cre- 
billon  (1674-1762).  A  French  tragic  poet.  His  play,  "  Atree  et 
Thyeste,"  bears  the  date  1707. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  or  Hathorne,  as  it  was  spelled  before  he 
changed  it,  was  born  in  Salem,  Massachusetts,  July  4,  1804.  His 
family,  settled  in  New  England  since  1630,  had  played  its  part  in 
the  activities  of  the  land  in  various  capacities,  including  the  perse- 
cution of  so-called  witches.  His  father,  a  sea-captain,  died  on  a 
voyage  when  the  lad  was  four  years  old.  The  excessive  mourning 
then  in  vogue  made  the  widow  practically  seclude  herself  in  her 
room,  throwing  a  consequent  gloom  over  the  household  and  affect- 
ing the  boy's  spirits.  From  this  depressing  atmosphere  he  found 
relief  in  an  early  developed  taste  for  reading.  In  1818  the  family 
moved  to  a  lonely  part  of  Maine,  where  in  roaming  the  lonely  woods 
he  gained  a  liking  for  solitude  as  well  as  for  nature.  He  returned 
to  Salem  in  1819  to  prepare  for  Bowdoin  College,  which  he  entered 
in  1821.  After  an  undistinguished  course  he  went  back  to  his  native 
town,  whither  his  mother  had  also  returned. 

In  Salem  he  remained  for  twelve  years,  a  recluse  in  a  family  of 
recluses,  devoting  himself  to  reading  and  writing.  In  1828  his  first 
book,  "  Fanshawe,"  was  published  at  his  own  expense.  Its  failure 
caused  him  to  destroy  all  the  copies  he  could  find.  Some  of  the 
stories  which  he  wrote  during  this  period  were  published  in  the 
annuals,  then  fashionable,  and  in  The  New  England  Magazine,  but 
without  making  much  impression. 

This  hermit-like  existence  was  healthily  broken  in  1836  by  his 
becoming  the  editor  of  an  obscure  magazine,  though  it  was  hack 
work  and  lasted  but  a  short  time.  The  anonymity  to  which  he  had 
stubbornly  clung  was  also  dispelled  by  one  friend,  and  the  publication 
of  his  "  Twice-Told  Tales  "  was  arranged  for  by  another,  his  class- 
mate, Horatio  Bridge.  These  two  facts  made  him  known  and  mark 
the  beginning  of  the  disappearance  of  his  solitary  depression,  which 
was  ended  by  his  engagement  to  Sophia  Peabody. 

In  January,  1839,  he  became  a  weigher  and  gauger  in  the  Boston 
Custom  House,  a  position  which  he  lost  in  April,  1841,  owing  to  a 
change  in  the  political  administration.  Then  for  a  few  months  he  was 
a  member  of  the  Brook  Farm  Community,  a  group  of  reformers  who 

220 


Nathaniel   Hawthorne  221 

tried  to  combine  agriculture  and  education.  In  the  Custom  House 
and  at  Brook  Farm  he  worked  so  hard  as  to  have  little  energy  for 
literature,  publishing  only  some  children's  books.  On  July  9,  1842, 
occurred  his  marriage. 

For  the  next  three  years  Hawthorne  resided  in  Concord  at  the 
Old  Manse.  In  this  retired  town,  where  such  eminent  people  as 
Emerson  and  Thoreau  were  to  be  met,  he  lived  a  very  happy,  quiet 
life,  given  to  musing  and  observation.  But  he  had  lost  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money  in  the  Brook  Farm  experiment,  the  failure  of 
The  Democratic  Review  prevented  payment  for  his  contributions,  and 
he  began  to  feel  the  pinch  of  poverty.  At  this  juncture  his  college 
mates,  Bridge  and  Pierce,  came  to  the  rescue,  and  on  March  23, 
1846,  he  was  appointed  surveyor  of  the  port  of  Salem,  that  spot  in 
which  the  Hawthorne  family  was  so  firmly  rooted,  whither  he  had 
previously  returned  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  Una,  born  in  Con- 
cord in  1844. 

Though  happy  for  a  short  time  at  getting  into  the  stir  of  actual 
life,  the  routine  and  sordidness  soon  palled  and  he  began  to  fret  in 
the  harness.  This  mood  kept  him  from  composition  till  he  forced 
from  himself,  in  1848,  the  last  of  his  short  stories,  including  "  The 
Great  Stone  Face  "  and  "  Ethan  Brand."  Despite  the  effort,  the 
stories  rank  well.  In  1849  he  was  dismissed  from  office  by  a  change 
of  political  administration,  not  because  of  inefficiency.  He  took 
this  dismissal  hard  because  some  of  his  townspeople  had  been 
opposed  to  him.  Again  he  was  in  money  difficulties  from  which 
he  was  released  by  a  donation  from  his  loyal  friends.  The  leisure 
thus  made  possible  was  devoted  to  the  production  of  his  greatest 
work,  a  novel,  "  The  Scarlet  Letter,"  which-  is  a  study  in  the  darker 
side  of  Puritanism.  Its  publication  in  April,  1850,  brought  him 
fame.  In  the  same  year  he  moved  to  the  Berkshire  Hills. 

The  year  and  a  half  in  the  hills  was  thoroughly  happy.  He  had 
the  incentive  of  success,  the  tranquillity  of  mind  due  to  sufficient 
means,  physical  comfort,  and  a  loving  household  now  enlarged  by  the 
birth  of  a  second  daughter,  Rose.  During  this  time  he  wrote  and 
published  (1851)  his  novel,  "  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,"  the 
study  of  an  inherited  curse,  made  pleasing  as  a  story  by  means  of 
its  realistic  portrayal  of  ordinary  life.  He  also  put  many  of  the 
stories  of  classical  mythology  into  a  form  understandable  by  chil- 


222  Notes 

dren,  publishing  the  results  in  "  A  Wonder-Book  for  Girls  and 
Boys  "  (1852)  and  "  Tanglewood  Tales  for  Girls  and  Boys  "  (1853). 
In  1852  appeared  "The  Snow  Image  and  Other  Twice-Told 
Tales,"  containing  hitherto  uncollected  contributions  to  various 
magazines. 

Believing  the  Berkshire  air  rather  enervating,  Hawthorne  moved 
in  November,  1851,  to  a  temporary  residence  in  West  Newton,  where 
he  wrote  "  The  Blithedale  Romance,"  which  was  published  in  1852. 
This  novel,  founded  on  his  Brook  Farm  experience,  is  a  study  of 
the  failure  of  the  typical  reformer.  In  June,  1852,  the  family 
moved  to  a  place  of  their  own,  called  "  The  Wayside  "  in  Concord. 
Here  the  ideal  family  life  continued.  In  the  summer  he  brought 
out  "  The  Life  of  Franklin  Pierce,"  the  biography  of  his  old  college 
mate,  who  was  shortly  after  elected  to  the  presidency  of  the  United 
States,  and  made  Hawthorne  United  States  Consul  at  Liverpool  in 
1853. 

The  holding  of  office  was  never  a  congenial  occupation  to  Haw- 
thorne, though  he  was  a  good  official.  It  always  became  irksome 
and  dried  up  his  creative  power.  The  consulship  was  no  exception, 
and  when  he  resigned  in  1857  he  felt  much  relief.  By  this  time  he 
had  obtained  a  competence  which  afforded  him  the  gratification  of 
paying  back  the  money  once  raised  for  him  by  his  friends.  When 
in  England  he  had  seen  much  of  the  country ;  now  he  determined 
to  see  more  of  Europe.  The  family  travelled  through  France  to 
Italy,  which  they  greatly  enjoyed,  staying  there  till  1859.  For  some 
months  they  had  occupied  the  old  villa  of  Montauto,  where  Haw- 
thorne composed  most  of  "  The  Marble  Faun."  The  illness  of  Una 
compelling  them  to  seek  a  different  climate,  they  returned  to  Eng- 
land, where  he  finished  the  book,  which  was  published  the  next 
year.  "The  Marble  Faun"  is  "an  analytical  study  of  evil";  but 
despite  the  subject,  the  artistic  effects  and  the  interpretation  of 
Italy  lend  it  charm. 

In  1860  the  family  returned  to  Concord.  Hawthorne's  health 
had  been  failing  for  some  time,  and  now  he  became  incapable  of 
sustained  work.  However,  in  1863  was  published  "  Our  Old  Home," 
the  theme  of  which  is  well  expressed  by  the  sub-title  "  A  Series  of 
English  Sketches,"  which  had  been  composed  previously.  He  con- 
tinued to  do  some  work,  and  even  promised  a  new  novel  to  the 


Nathaniel   Hawthorne  223 

press,  but  he  came  to  realize  that  he  would  never  finish  it.  In  1864 
he  went  on  a  carriage  trip  with  his  old  friend  Pierce,  during  which 
he  peacefully  died  in  his  sleep. 

REFERENCES 
Biography 

\YOODBERRY:  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 
JAMES  :  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

Criticism 

HUTTON  :  Literary  Essays. 
STEPHEN  :  Hours  in  a  Library. 

NOTES   ON   "HOWE'S   MASQUERADE" 

This  story  was  first  published  in  The  Democratic  Review  for  May, 
1838,  and  was  republished  in  1842  in  an  enlarged  edition  of  "  Twice- 
Told  Tales."  It  exemplifies  the  work  in  which  Hawthorne  was  the 
pioneer  —  that  of  building  a  story  about  a  situation.  The  idea  of  this 
particular  one  is  found  in  the  following  entry  in  "  American  Note- 
Books  "  :  "A  phantom  of  the  old  royal  governors,  or  some  such 
showy  shadowy  pageant,  on  the  night  of  the  evacuation  of  Boston  by 
the  British."  Hawthorne  was  accustomed  to  jot  down  in  his  note- 
books hints  for  stories  which  often  can  be  traced  in  his  developed 
writings. 

In  "  Howe's  Masquerade  "  can  be  clearly  seen  the  fact  that  he 
had  not  mastered  the  method  of  writing  the  short-story  as  we  have 
it  to-day.  There  is  too  much  introduction  and  too  much  conclu- 
sion. He  takes  too  long  to  get  the  story  into  motion,  and  he  spoils 
the  effect  by  tacking  to  the  end  a  moral.  These  mistakes  or 
crudities  Poe  did  not  make ;  however,  each  writer  contributed  to 
the  development  of  the  short-story  some  element  of  value,  as  has 
been  pointed  out  in  the  Introduction. 

This  story  is  one  of  "  The  Legends  of  the  Province  House," 
stories  joined  together  by  the  scheme  of  having  an  old  inhabitant 
tell  them  to  some  visitor.  Such  machinery  with  its  prologues  and 
end-links,  more  or  less  elaborate,  has  been  often  used,  as  is  seen  in 
Chaucer's  "  Canterbury  Tales "  and  in  Longfellow's  "  Tales  of  a 
Wayside  Inn."  The  taste  for  this  method  has  largely  passed, 


224  Notes 


though  it  has  been  recently  revived  by  Alfred  Noyes  in  "  The  Tales 
of  the  Mermaid  Tavern." 

PAGE  93.  Washington  Street :  the  scene  is  laid  in  Boston. 
Old  Province  House  :  the  term  Province  House  is  used  somewhat 
in  the  same  sense  as  State  House.  The  building  was  erected  when 
Massachusetts  was  a  province  and  served  as  the  headquarters  and 
dwelling  of  the  royal  governor.  Hawthorne  represents  it  as  having 
descended  to  the  condition  of  an  inn  or  inferior  hotel,  the  most 
important  part  of  which  was  the  bar  for  the  sale  of  liquor. 

94.  lady  of  Pownall :  the  wife  of  Thomas  Pownall,  a  royal  gov- 
ernor of  Massachusetts  Bay  Colony.  Bernard  :  Sir  Thomas  Ber- 
nard, another  royal  governor. 

98.  Steeled  knights  of  the  Conquest:  persons  dressed  as  cav- 
alrymen   in    steel   armor    of   1066,    when    William    the    Conqueror 
became    King   of   England.         party-colored  Merry  Andrew :    an 
old  term  for  a  clown    dressed  in  garments  having  several  colors. 
Falstaff :  an  important  character  in  several  of  Shakespeare's  plays. 
He  is  always  represented  as  fat  and  ridiculous.         Don  Quixote  : 
the  chief  character  of  the  celebrated  Spanish  satire  "  Don  Quixote  " 
(1605)  by  Cervantes.     Don  Quixote  is  a  simple-minded  man,  whose 
head  has  been  turned  by  reading  the  extravagant  romances  of  chiv- 
alry then   current,  in  which  knights  ride  forth  to  redress  wrongs. 
He  feels  himself  called  to  such  a  mission  and,  armed  with  various 
ridiculous    makeshifts    and    accompanied    by    a   humorous    squire, 
Sancho  Panza,  whose  sayings  have  achieved  an  immortality  nearly 
equal  to  his  master's  doings,  he  sallies  out  upon  a  course  of  adven- 
tures, which  caused  the  world  to  laugh  the  dying  remnants  of  false 
chivalry  into  its  grave.         Colonel  Joliffe  :  an  imaginary  character, 
whig  principles  :    the  people  belonging  to  the  patriotic  party  in 
the  colonies  were  called  Whigs. 

99.  Rev.  Mather  Byles  :  an  actual  person  (1706-1788).     He  was 
imprisoned  in  1777  as  a  Tory ;  that  is,  as  an  adherent  of  the  king. 
wig  and  band  :  Protestant  clergymen  of  that  day  wore  wigs  and  a 
strip  of  linen,  called  a  band,  placed  about  the  neck  with  the  ends 
hanging  down  in  front. 

102.  regicide  judges  :  in  the  first  part  of  the  seventeenth  century 
the  people  of  England  became  dissatisfied  with  their  king,  Charles  I, 


Nathaniel   Hawthorne  225 

because  of  his  illegal  acts.  They  revolted,  captured  the  king,  put 
him  on  trial,  and  executed  him,  January  30,  1649.  The  judges  are 
called  regicide,  because  they  tried  and  condemned  a  king.  The 
royal  party  spoke  of  him  as  a  martyr  to  the  cause. 

110.  When  the  truth-telling  accents,  etc.  :  Hawthorne  has  tried 
in  this  last  paragraph  to  emphasize  the  contrast  between  the  rather 
sordid  real  and  the  imaginary.  He  is  entirely  too  successful,  be- 
cause he  spoils  the  effect  of  the  story  —  something  for  which  Poe 
strove  with  such  singleness  of  purpose  as  to  permit  of  no  such 
ending. 

NOTES   TO   "THE   BIRTHMARK" 

This  story  was  first  published  in  the  March,  1843,  number  of  The 
Pioneer,  a  magazine  edited  by  James  Russell  Lowell,  and  was  re- 
published  in  "  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse  "  in  1846.  It  belongs  to 
the  "  moral  philosophic  "  group  of  Hawthorne's  writings  (see  Intro- 
duction). 

PAGE  112.  natural  philosophy  :  an  old  term  for  physics.  spir- 
itual affinity :  in  chemistry  certain  elements  show  a  tendency  to 
combine  with  others,  so  an  attraction  of  one  human  spirit  for 
another,  leading  generally  to  marriage,  is  often  called  a  spiritual 
affinity. 

114.  Eve  of  Powers  :  Hiram  Powers  (1805-1873).  An  American 
sculptor  whose  statue  of  Eve  is  one  of  his  noted  works. 

118.  Pygmalion:  in  Greek  mythology  a  sculptor  who  made  such 
a  beautiful  statue  of  a  woman  that  he  fell  in  love  with  it,  whereupon 
in  answer  to  his  prayer  the  goddess  Aphrodite  gave  it  life. 

121.  optical   phenomena :    sights  which  cheat  the  eye  into  be- 
lieving them  real. 

122.  corrosive  acid :  a  powerful  chemical  which  eats  away  sub- 
stance,       dynasty  of  the  alchemists :  the  succession  of  the  early 
investigators  of  chemistry  who  spent  most  of  their  energy  in  seeking 
what  was  called  the  "  universal  solvent "  which  would  turn  every 
substance  into  gold.     These  men   were    sometimes    legitimate    in- 
vestigators, but  often  cheats  who  made  money  out  of  foolish  peo- 
ple.    At  one  time  they  became  so  numerous  in  London  that  laws 


226  Notes 

were  passed  against  them,  but  it  took  Jonson's  play  "  The  Alche- 
mist "  to  laugh  away  their  hold. 

123.  elixir  vitae  :  (Arabic,  el  iksir,  plus  Latin,  vita:)  literally,  the 
philosopher's  stone  of  life.  Another  fad  of  the  alchemists. 

125.  Albertus  Magnus  :  "  Albert  the  Great"  (1193-1280),  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Dominican  order  of  monks.  Cornelius  Agrippa: 
(1486-1535)  a  student  of  magic.  Paracelsus  :  Philippus  Aureolus 
Paracelsus  (1493-1541),  a  physician  and  alchemist.  friar  who 
created  the  prophetic  Brazen  Head:  the  legendary  "Famous  His- 
tory of  Friar  Bacon "  records  the  construction  of  such  a  thing. 
Transactions  of  the  Royal  Society  :  the  volumes  containing  the 
discussions  of  the  Royal  Society  and  also  the  papers  read  before  it. 
This  association  was  founded  about  1660  for  the  advancement  of 
science. 


BRET  HARTE 

Francis  Bret  Harte,  or  as  he  later  called  himself  Bret  Harte,  was 
born  in  Albany,  New  York,  August  25,  1836.  He  came  of  mixed 
English,  Dutch,  and  Hebrew  stock.  The  family  led  a  wandering 
life,  full  of  privations,  till  the  death  of  the  father,  a  schoolmaster,  in 
1845.  In  1853  the  widow  moved  to  California,  where  she  married 
Colonel  Andrew  Williams.  Thither  the  son  followed  her  in  1854. 

As  tutor,  express  messenger,  printer,  drug  clerk,  miner,  and 
editor  he  spent  the  three  years  till  1857,  when  he  settled  in 
San  Francisco,  where  he  became  a  printer  in  the  office  of  The 
Golden  Era.  Soon  he  began  to  contribute  articles  to  the  paper, 
and  was  promoted  to  the  editorial  room.  In  1862  he  married  Miss 
Anna  Griswold,  and  in  1864  he  was  appointed  secretary  of  the 
California  mint.  He  continued  writing,  and  in  the  same  year  was 
engaged  on  a  weekly,  The  Calif ornian.  In  1867  the  first  collection 
of  his  poems  was  published  under  the  title  of  "  The  Lost  Galleon 
and  Other  Tales."  When  The  Overland  Monthly  was  founded  in 
the  next  year  Bret  Harte  became  its  first  editor.  To  its  second 
number  he  contributed  "  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp."  Though  received 
with  much  question  in  California,  it  met  a  most  enthusiastic  re- 
ception in  the  East,  the  columns  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly  being 
thrown  open  to  him.  This  success  he  followed  six  months  later  by 
another,  "  The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat."  His  next  great  success 
was  the  poem  "  Plain  Language  from  Truthful  James,"  which  was  in 
the  September,  1870,  number  of  the  magazine.  It  made  him  famous 
though  he  attached  little  importance  to  it.  In  this  year  he  was 
made  Professor  of  Recent  Literature  in  the  University  of  California. 

Debt,  friction  with  the  new  owner  of  The  Overland,  and  a  grow- 
ing lack  of  sympathy  with  the  late  settlers,  caused  Bret  Harte  to 
leave  California  in  1871.  He  came  East  and  devoted  himself  en- 
tirely to  writing,  his  work  being  published  for  one  year  altogether 
in  The  Atlantic  Monthly.  But  his  ever  recurring  financial  difficulties 
becoming  acute,  he  did  some  lecturing  in  addition.  In  1876  ap- 
peared his  only  novel,  "  Gabriel  Conroy,"  which  was  not  a  success. 
His  money  difficulties  continuing,  his  friends  came  to  the  rescue 


228  Notes 

and  secured  his  appointment  as  United  States  Consul  at  Crefeld, 
Germany.  Leaving  his  wife,  whom  he  never  saw  again,  he  sailed 
in  1878.  At  this  post  he  continued  for  two  years,  his  life  being 
varied  by  a  lecture  tour  in  England.  In  1880  he  was  transferred  to 
the  more  lucrative  consulship  at  Glasgow. 

In  Glasgow  he  remained  for  five  years,  writing,  meeting  some 
eminent  writers,  and  visiting  different  parts  of  the  country.  In 
1885,  a  new  President  having  taken  office,  he  was  superseded  in  his 
consulship.  He  then  settled  in  London,  devoting  himself  to  writing 
with  only  an  occasional  trip  away,  once  as  far  as  Switzerland.  ID 
1901  he  died. 

REFERENCES 
Biography 

MERWIN  :  The  Life  of  Bret  Harte. 
PEMBERTON  :  Life  of  Bret  Harte. 

Criticism 

WOODBERRY  :  America  in  Literature. 

NOTES  TO  "THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT' 

This  story  was  first  published  in  The  Overland  Monthly  of  San 
Francisco  in  1869. 

PAGE  134.  Poker  Flat:  an  actual  place  in  Sierra  County,  Cali- 
fornia. The  name  is  typical  of  a  large  class  of  western  geographic 
names  bestowed  by  rough  uneducated  men  when  the  West  was  nev 
moral  atmosphere  :  these  western  mining  towns  in  1850  in  a  region 
which  had  just  become  a  part  of  the  United  States  as  a  result  of 
the  War  with  Mexico,  were  largely  unorganized  and  without  regu- 
larly constituted  government.  The  bad  element  did  as  it  pleased 
until  the  better  people  got  tired.  Then  a  "  vigilance  committee  " 
would  be  organized,  which  would  either  drive  out  the  undesira- 
bles, as  in  this  story,  or  would  execute  the  entire  lot. 

135.  sluice  robber :  one  way  of  separating  gold  from  the  gravel 
and  sand  in  which  it  is  found  is  to  put  the  mixture  into  a  slanting 
trough,  called  a  sluice,  through  which  water  is  run.  As  these 
sluices  were  sometimes  of  considerable  length,  it  was  not  a  difficult 
matter  for  a  man  to  rob  one. 


Bret  Harte  229 

136.  Parthian :  the  Farthians  inhabited  a  part  of  ancient  Persia. 
It  was  their  custom  when  retreating  to  continue  to  shoot  arrows  at 
their  enemy. 

142.  Covenanter:  one  of  that  body  of  Scotchmen  who  had 
bound  themselves  by  a  solemn  covenant  or  agreement  in  the  sev- 
enteenth century  to  uphold  the  Presbyterian  faith.  This  act  re- 
quired force  of  character,  since  it  was  in  defiance  of  King  Charles  I, 
and  this  force  was  shown  in  the  vigor  of  their  hymns. 

144.  Iliad :  the  ancient  Greek  epic  poem,  ascribed  to  Homer, 
which  tells  the  story  of  the  war  of  the  Greeks  against  Troy. 
Alexander  Pope  (1688-1744),  an  English  poet,  who  rather  freely 
translated  the  poem. 

147.    Derringer  :  a  pistol,  so  called  from  the  name  of  the  inventor. 


ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Robert  Lewis  Balfour  Stevenson,  the  son  of  a  man  of  some  means, 
was  born  in  Edinburgh,  November  30, 1850.  The  Louis  form  of  his 
second  name  was  merely  a  caprice  in  spelling  adopted  by  the  boy, 
and  never  altered  the  pronunciation  of  the  original  by  his  family. 
An  only  child,  afflicted  with  poor  health,  he  was  an  object  of  solici- 
tude, notably  to  his  nurse,  Alison  Cunningham,  to  whose  loving  de- 
votion the  world  owes  an  unpayable  debt.  Stevenson's  appreciation 
of  her  faithful  ministrations  is  beautifully  voiced  in  the  dedication 
of  his  "  A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses  "  (1885).  After  some  schooling, 
made  more  or  less  desultory  by  ill-health,  he  attended  Edinburgh 
University.  The  family  profession  was  lighthouse  engineering,  and 
though  he  gave  it  enough  attention  to  receive  a  medal  for  a  sug- 
gested improvement  on  a  lighthouse  lamp,  his  heart  was  not  in  en- 
gineering, so  he  compromised  with  his  father  on  law.  He  was  called 
to  the  Scottish  bar  and  rode  on  circuit  with  the  court,  but,  becoming 
master  of  his  destiny,  he  abandoned  law  for  literature. 

Literature  was  the  serious  purpose  of  his  life  and  to  it  he  gave  an 
ardor  of  industry  which  is  amazing.  He  worked  at  the  mastery  of 
its  technique  for  years,  till  he  gained  that  felicity  of  expression 
which  has  made  his  writings  classical.  His  earliest  publications 
were  essays,  often  inspired  by  his  trips  abroad  in  search  of  health. 
On  one  of  these  in  France  in  1876  he  met  his  future  wife,  Mrs.  Os- 
bourne,  an  American.  Other  such  trips  are  recorded  in  "  An  Inland 
Voyage  "  (1878)  and  in  "Travels  with  a  Donkey"  (1879).  In  1879 
he  came  to  America,  travelling  in  a  rough  way  to  California,  an 
experience  made  use  of  in  his  book  "  An  Amateur  Emigrant."  As 
a  consequence  of  this  trip,  he  fell  desperately  ill  in  San  Francisco, 
where  he  was  nursed  by  Mrs.  Osbourne,  whom  he  married  in  1880. 
His  convalescence  in  an  abandoned  mining  camp  is  recorded  in 
"The  Silverado  Squatters"  (1883).  Returning  to  Scotland,  they 
found  the  climate  impossible  for  his  weak  lungs,  consequently  they 
tried  various  places  on  the  Continent.  Throughout  his  ill-health  he 
heroically  kept  at  work,  publishing  from  time  to  time  books  of  essays 

230 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson  23 1 

and  short-stories,  such  as  "  Virginibus  Puerisque  "  (1881)  and  "  New 
Arabian  Nights "  (1882),  parts  of  which  had  already  appeared  in 
magazines,  and  in  1883  his  first  popular  success,  "  Treasure  Island." 

In  1887.  his  father  died  and  in  the  next  year  he  came  again  to 
America,  sojourning  at  various  places,  among  them  Saranac  Lake, 
and  then  voyaging  in  a  sailing  vessel,  The  Casco,  in  the  Pacific.  It 
jvas  not  his  ill-health  alone  that  kept  him  on  the  move,  but  an  ad- 
venturous spirit  as  well.  Finally  the  family  settled  at  Apia,  Samoa, 
the  climate  of  which  he  found  remarkably  salubrious.  There  he 
could  work  even  physically  without  the  long  spells  of  illness  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  all  his  life.  He  was  able  to  take  an 
intense  interest  in  the  unhappy  politics  of  the  islands,  endeavoring 
to  alleviate  the  unfortunate  condition  of  the  natives,  who  passion- 
ately returned  his  interest.  They  built  for  him  to  his  house  a  road 
to  which  they  gave  the  significant  name  of  "  The  Road  of  the  Loving 
Heart,"  and  they  celebrated  his  story-telling  gift  by  the  name  "  Tusi- 
tala,"  the  teller  of  tales.  His  efforts  for  Samoa  resulted  in  a  book 
entitled  "  A  Foot  Note  to  History  "  (1893),  which  showed  the  troubled 
condition  of  the  islands.  In  this  place,  ruling  over  a  large  retinue 
of  servants  like  a  Scottish  chieftain  over  his  clan,  he  lived  for  three 
years,  turning  out  much  work  and  producing  half  of  that  most  won- 
derful novel,  "  Weir  of  Hermiston,"  which  bid  fair  to  be  his  greatest 
achievement.  Death  came  suddenly  in  1894  from  the  bursting  of  a 
blood  vessel  in  the  brain,  thus  cheating  his  lifelong  enemy,  tubercu- 
losis. Besides  "  Weir,"  he  left  almost  completed  another  novel, 
"  St.  Ives,"  which  was  concluded  by  Quiller-Couch  and  published 
in  1898. 

On  a  high  peak  of  Vaea  he  lies  beneath  a  stone  bearing  the  epi- 
taph written  by  himself : 

"  Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky, 
Dig  the  grave  and  let  me  lie. 
Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die, 

And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will. 
This  be  the  verse  you  grave  for  me  : 
Here  he  lies  where  he  longed  to  be  ; 
Home  is  the  sailor,  home  from  the  sea, 

And  the  hunter  home  from  the  hill" 


232  Notes 

REFERENCES 
Biography : 

BALFOUR  :  Life  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
RALEIGH  :  R.  L.  Stevenson. 

Criticism : 

GENUNG  :  Stevenson's  Attitude  toward  Life. 
PHELPS  :  Modern  Novelists. 

NOTES   ON   "THE   SIRE   DE   MALETROIT'S   DOOR" 

This  story  of  dramatic  interest,  which  contains,  moreover,  much 
psychologic  interest,  was  first  published  in  Temple  Bar,  January, 
1878,  and  reprinted  in  the  volume  "  New  Arabian  Nights  "  in  1882. 

PAGE  148.  Sire  :  obsolete  French  for  sir.  Burgundy :  a  sec- 
tion of  eastern  France  bordering  on  the  river  Rhone.  The  Count 
of  Burgundy  by  a  treaty  with  the  English  recognized  the  claim  of 
the  English  king,  Henry  VI,  to  the  throne  of  France.  Their  troops 
at  the  time  of  the  story  were  endeavoring  to  establish  this  claim  by 
force  of  arms.  Joan  of  Arc  figures  in  this  war.  safe-conduct :  a 
passport.  As  Denis  had  one,  he  must  have  come  from  the  French 
forces  and  consequently  was  among  enemies. 

149.  Chateau  Landon  :  an  ancient  town  southeast  of  Paris. 

150.  Bourges :  a  city  in  the  Department  of  Cher,  west  of  Bur- 
gundy. 

154.  rushes  :  In  those  days  the  floors  of  rooms  were  covered  with 
rushes  into  which  people  were  accustomed  to  throw  refuse.     Clean- 
ing was  done  by  removing  the  old  rushes  and  putting  a  fresh  supply 
in  their  place. 

155.  Leonardo  :  Leonardo  da  Vinci  (1452-1519),  a  famous  Italian 
painter  who  did  much  portraiture,  particularly  of  women.     One  of 
his  best-known  works  is  the  "  Mona  Lisa." 

156.  damoiseau :  obsolete  French  word  denoting  rank. 

163.  salle:  (French)  hall. 

164.  Charlemagne  :  the  French  form  of  Charles  the  Great  (742- 
814),  a  great  king  of  the  Franks  and  Emperor  of  the  Romans. 

169.   Hercules  :  a  great  personage  in  Greek  mythology,  famous 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson  233 

for  his  strength.         Solomon  :  king  of  Israel,  993-953  B.C.,  noted 
for  his  wisdom. 

NOTES   ON   "MARKHEIM" 

This  psychological  study  was  written  in  1884  and  published  in 
Unwinds  Annual  for  1885. 

PAGE  179.  "  Time  was  that  when  the  brains  were  out "  :  a  mis- 
quotation from  Shakespeare's  "  Macbeth,"  Act  III,  scene  iv,  lines 
78-79.  In  full  this  most  apposite  reference  runs : 

"  The  times  have  been, 

That,  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die, 
And  there  an  end  ;  but  now  they  rise  again, 
With  twenty  mortal  murders  on  their  crowns, 
And  push  us  from  our  stools :  this  is  more  strange 
Than  such  a  murder  is." 

180.  Bohemian  goblets  :  drinking  glasses  of  glass  made  in  Bo- 
hemia, the  most  northern  portion  of  the  Empire  of  Austria-Hungary. 
Its  glassware  is  famous. 

182.  Brownrigg  :  Elizabeth  Brownrigg,  a  notorious  English  mur- 
deress of  the  eighteenth  century.  Pictures  of  such  persons  were 
common  at  country  fairs.  Mannings  :  other  murderers,  man  and 
wife.  Thurtell :  another  murderer  and  his  victim. 

185.  other   murderers :   compare  the  agonies  of   Bill  Sykes  in 
"  Oliver  Twist." 

186.  Sheraton  sideboard :  Thomas  Sheraton  (1751-1806)  was  a 
well-known  English  furniture  maker.         Jacobean  tombs  :   graves 
of  the  times  of  the  English  kings  named  James  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

187.  a  face  was  thrust  into  the  aperture :  This  was  not  a  real 
person  but  one  born  of  Markheim's  troubled  mind.     The  conversa- 
tion shows  the  dual  nature  of  man,  containing  both  good  and  bad, 
and  how  a  man   excuses  his  wickedness.     The   subject  was  used 
again  by  Stevenson  in  "  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde." 


RUDYARD  KIPLING 

Rudyard  Kipling  is  the  son  of  John  Lockwood  Kipling,  succes- 
sively Professor  in  the  Bombay  School  of  Art  and  Curator  of  the 
Government  Museum  at  Lahore,  India,  and  of  Alice  Macdonald, 
the  daughter  of  a  Wesleyan  minister.  He  was  born  at  Bombay, 
December  30,  1865.  His  given  name  commemorates  the  meeting- 
place  of  his  parents,  a  small  lake  in  Staffordshire. 

In  accordance  with  the  custom  dictated  by  the  needs  of  health 
and  of  education  in  the  case  of  white  children  born  in  India,  he  was 
taken  in  1871  to  England,  where  he  stayed  with  a  relative  at 
Southsea,  near.  Portsmouth.  The  experiences  of  such  little  exiles 
from  the  home  circle  are  feelingly  shown  in  "  Baa,  Baa,  Black- 
sheep  "  and  in  the  beginning  of  "The  Light  that  Failed."  When 
thirteen  he  entered  The  United  Services  College,  Westward  Ho, 
Bideford,  North  Devon.  Here  he  stayed  from  1878  to  1882,  taking 
part  in  some  at  least  of  the  happenings  so  well  narrated  in  "  Stalky 
and  Co."  (1899). 

On  leaving  college  in  1882  he  went  to  Lahore,  India,  where  he 
became  sub-editor  of  The  Civil  and  Military  Gazette.  In  1887  he 
joined  the  editorial  staff  of  The  Allahabad  Pioneer.  To  these  papers 
he  contributed  many  of  the  poems  and  short-stories  soon  collected 
in  the  volumes  named  "Departmental  Ditties"  (1886)  and  "Plain 
Tales  from  the  Hills  "  (1888).  All  of  these  writings  come  near  to 
actual  occurrences,  and  give  a  fascinating  glimpse  of  conditions  in 
India.  In  the  same  year  of  1888  he  published  in  India  six  other 
volumes  of  tales. 

Leaving  India  in  1889,  he  returned  to  Europe  via  China,  Japan, 
and  the  United  States,  sending  back  to  the  two  papers  travel 
sketches  which  have  since  been  collected  under  the  title  of  "  From 
Sea  to  Sea"  (1899). 

On  reaching  England  he  found  himself  a  celebrated  man.  There 
he  met  in  1891  Wolcott  Balestier,  an  American,  to  whom  he  dedi- 
cated "  Barrack  Room  Ballads "  (1892)  in  an  introductory  poem 
filled  with  glowing  tribute.  In  the  same  year  he  made  further 
journeys  to  South  Africa,  Australia,  and  New  Zealand. 


234 


Rudyard  Kipling  235 

He  married  Caroline  Balestier  in  1892,  the  year  of  publication  of 
"  The  Naulahka,"  which  had  been  written  in  collaboration  with  her 
brother.  The  travelling  continued  till  they  settled  in  Brattleboro, 
Vermont,  where  their  unique  house  was  named  appropriately  "The 
Naulahka."  The  fruit  of  his  American  sojourn  was,  among  other 
writings,  "  Captains  Courageous "  (1897),  a  story  of  the  Atlantic 
fishing  banks,  full  of  American  atmosphere  and  characters.  In  the 
meantime,  in  various  periodicals  had  appeared  short-stories  and 
poems,  which  were  quickly  put  into  books.  One  of  the  stories 
is  "  A  Walking  Delegate,"  which  is  so  wonderfully  accurate  in  the 
local  color  of  Vermont  as  to  be  worthy  of  special  mention.  It  forms 
one  of  "The  Day's  Work"  group  (1898).  In  it  is  seen  Kipling's 
power  of  observation,  which  he  possesses  to  such  a  remarkable 
degree.  To  this  period  belong  those  famous  collections,  "The 
Jungle  Book  "  (1894)  and  "  The  Second  Jungle  Book  "  (1895),  con- 
taining the  beast  stories  which  seem  so  plausible,  and  a  book  of 
poems,  "The  Seven  Seas"  (1896). 

In  1896  the  Kiplings  returned  to  England,  taking  a  house  at 
Rottingdean.  While  England  has  remained  his  permanent  home, 
he  has  continued  to  take  journeys.  During  a  trip  in  1899  he  was 
seriously  ill  in  New  York  with  pneumonia.  While  ill,  his  condition 
was  a  constant  source  of  anxiety  to  all  classes  of  people.  He  re- 
covered, but  his  little  daughter  Josephine  died  of  the  same  disease. 
One  cannot  fail  to  note  the  intimate  touches  reminiscent  of  her  in 
"They,"  published  in  "Traffics  and  Discoveries"  (1904).  Another 
trip,  in  1900,  was  to  South  Africa,  while  the  Boer  War  was  in  prog- 
ress. The  results  are  to  be  found  in  many  poems  and  stories  about 
the  struggle. 

In  late  years  honors  have  come  to  him.  The  Nobel  Prize  of  Lit- 
erature and  an  honorary  degree  from  Oxford  were  both  awarded 
him  in  1907.  He  has  taken  some  part  in  politics,  but  he  continues 
to  write,  though  not  so  prolifically  as  before.  His  more  recent 
books  are:  "Kim"  (1902),  a  vivid  panorama  of  India;  "Puck  of 
Pook's  Hill"  (1906),  and  "  Rewards  and  Fairies"  (1910),  realistic 
reconstructions  of  English  history ;  "  Actions  and  Reactions " 
(1909),  a  series  of  stories,  among  them  "An  Habitation  Enforced," 
a  rare^  story  of  the  charm  of  English  country  life ;  and  "  The 
Fringes  of  the  Fleet"  (1916),  relating  to  the  European  War. 


236 


Notes 


His  son  John  has  had  the  misfortune  to  be  captured  in  the  present 
war. 

One  book,  "  The  Day's  Work,"  deserves  particular  mention,  as 
it  contains  some  of  his  best  stories,  such  as  "  The  Brushwood  Boy," 
and  exhibits  especially  the  three  cardinal  points  of  his  philosophy 
of  life  —  "  Work,"  "  Don't  whine,"  and  "  Don't  be  afraid." 

REFERENCES 
Biography 

CLEMENS  :  A  Ken  of  Kipling. 
KNOWLES  :  A  Kipling  Primer. 
Criticism 

LE  GALLIENNE  :  Rudyard  Kipling,  A  Criticism. 
FALLS  :   Rudyard  Kipling,  A  Critical  Study. 
HOOKER  :  The  Later  Work  of  Rudyard  Kipling,  North  Ameri- 
can Review,  May,  1911. 

NOTES   TO   "WEE   WILLIE   WINKIE » 

PAGE  196.  Wee  Willie  Winkie:  the  name  is  taken  from  the 
Scotch  poem  of  William  Miller  (1810-1872).  Below  is  given  Whit- 
tier's  familiar  version  of  the  poem  : 


Wee  Willie  Winkie 

Runs  through  the  town, 
Upstairs  and  downstairs, 

In  his  nightgown ! 
Tapping  at  the  window, 

Crying  at  the  lock, 
"  Are  the  weans  in  their  bed, 

For  it's  now  ten  o'clock  ?  " 

"  Hey,  Willie  Winkie, 

Are  you  coming  then  ? 
The  cat's  singing  purrie 

To  the  sleeping  hen  ; 
The  dog  is  lying  on  the  floor 

And  doesn't  even  peep  ; 
But  here's  a  wakeful  laddie 

That  will  not  fall  asleep." 


Anything  but  sleep,  you  rogue  ! 

Glowering  like  the  moon  ; 
Rattling  in  an  iron  jug 

With  an  iron  spoon ; 
Rumbling,  tumbling  all  about, 

Crowing  like  a  cock, 
Screaming  like  I  don't  know  what, 

Waking  sleeping  folk. 

«  Hey,  Willie  Winkie, 

Can't  you  keep  him  still  ? 
Wriggling  off  a  body's  knee 

Like  a  very  eel ; 
Pulling  at  the  cat's  ear, 

As  she  drowsy  hums  ; 
Heigh,  Willie  Winkie ! 

See  !  there  he  comes  !  " 


Rudyard  Kipling  237 


Wearied  is  the  mother 

That  has  a  restless  wean, 
A  wee  stumpy  bairnie, 

Heard  whene'er  he's  seen  — 
That  has  a  battle  aye  with  sleep 

Before  he'll  close  his  e'e ; 
But  a  kiss  from  off  his  rosy  lips 

Gives  strength  anew  to  me. 

"An  officer,  etc.":  this  quotation  refers  to  the  time  when  the 
holders  of  military  rank  also  held  social  position.  ayah  :  Anglo- 
Indian  for  "  nurse."  Baba  :  Oriental  title  of  respect.  subaltern  : 
a  commissioned  officer  of  lower  rank  than  captain,  i.e.  lieutenant. 
compound  :  an  enclosure,  in  the  East,  for  a  residence. 

197.  Commissioner  :  a  civilian  official  having  charge  of  a  depart- 
ment.        Station :   a  military  post.         mess :    a  group   of  officers 
who  eat  together,  hence  the  officers.         rank  and  file:  the  non- 
commissioned officers  and  privates. 

198.  Afghan  and  Egyptian  medals :  it  is  customary  for  medals 
to  be  struck  off  in  commemoration  of  campaigns  and  for  them  to  be 
called  after  the  places  in  which  the  campaigns  occurred. 

199.  Hut   jao :    native  expression   equivalent   to    "  go    away   at 
once." 

200.  Bell,  Butcha  :  dogs'  names.     Butcha  =  butcher. 

201.  Old  Adam :   it  is  a  religious  belief  that  Adam,  supposedly 
the  first  man,   committed  sin,  the  tendency   to  which  he  handed 
down  to  all  men  as  his  descendants!     Hence  when  one  does  wrong 
it  is  said  that  the  Old  Adam  comes  out.        quarters  :  house  or  rooms 
of  an  officer. 

202.  Bad  Men :  childish  name  for  hostile  natives.         broke  his 
arrest :    an   officer  under  arrest   is  his  own  keeper.        Sahib :    a 
term  of  respect,  equivalent  to  Mister,  used  by  East  Indians  toward 
Europeans. 

203.  twelve-two  :    the  unit  of  measurement  of  the  height  of  a 
horse  is  called  a  hand,  which  is  equal  to  four  inches.     Hence  twelve- 
two  means  twelve  hands  and  two  inches.         Waler  :  a  horse  from 
New  South  Wales. 

205.   Pushto  :  sometimes  Pushtu,  the  language  of  the  Afghans. 


23  8  Notes 

206.  Sahib  Bahadur  :   Sahib  =  Mister.     Bahadur,  title  of  respect 
equivalent  to  "gallant  officer." 

207.  Spoil-five  :  a  game  of  cards.     Color  Sergeant :  in  the  Brit- 
ish army,  he  is  a  non-commissioned  officer  who  ranks  higher  and 
receives  better  pay  than  an  ordinary  sergeant,  and,  in  addition  to 
discharging  the  usual  duties  of  a  sergeant,  attends  the  colors  (the 
flag)   in  the  field  or   near   headquarters.      Pathans :    (pronounced 
Pay-tan)    an    Afghan    race    settled    in    Hindustan  'and    in    eastern 
Afghanistan.         double  :   to  increase  the  pace  to   twice   the  ordi- 
nary ;  double-quick. 

208.  cantonment :  (in  India  pronounced  can-tone-ment)  part  of 
a  town  assigned  to  soldiers.         pulton  :    native  expression  equiva- 
lent to  "  troops." 

209.  pukka  :  native  expression  meaning  "  real,"  "  thorough." 


14  DAY  USE 

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